The Phantom Bride
by Caelia di Mekio
Summary: The cast of Phantom Of The Opera gets placed in S. Morgenstern's classic tale of true love and high adventure.
1. As You Wish

_I was fanning out a deck of cards when the door opened. My father walked in, and placed a hand on my forehead. "Feeling any better, petite?"_

_"No, Papa, I'm not."_

_"Well, your grandmother's here now. That should make things better, right?"_

_"Is she going to use those silly pet names on me again? I hate that."_

_"One never knows." The silhouette of my grandmother appeared in the doorway. "Mother."_

_"Gustave," she crooned sweetly, kissing him on each of his cheeks. "And Ange, ma petite chou d'amour. How are you?" I rolled my eyes. Grandmama always called me Ange, even though it was her pet name for my grandfather, too. She called just about everyone in our family Ange. My father smiled and kissed her back before leaving the two of us alone. "I brought you something." She handed me a gold wrapped package. "Open it."_

_It was too big for tarot cards, which annoyed me. I'd been hoping for a new deck of the Major Arcana. As I ripped off the paper, the words _The Phantom Bride, by Gaston Leroux_, gleamed gold at me. "A book?" I asked in disgust. "A book is not going to help me learn divining."_

_"No, ma petite, but it can teach you about a different kind of magic. I used to read this book to your father when he was sick, and he adored it." I went back to dealing out the different suits. "Angel, at least, hear one chapter."_

_"Oh, alright," I muttered, swiping the cards to the side._

_"Thank you. Now, let's see..." she flipped open the book. "Once upon a time..."_

Christine was a young country girl, living on her deceased father's farm. She could only afford one farm hand, and only because he didn't ask for pay. He just wanted food, shelter, and clothing. In exchange for his work, she cooked his meals, sewed clothes for him, and let him live in the spare bedroom. His name was Erik, but she never called him that. Her name for him was Farm Boy. Little did she know how much he enjoyed this alias. To him, it meant she respected him, and was too shy to say his real name. He'd heard her say it around her friends; she said it with such…adoration.

"Farm Boy!" Christine called, bringing Erik out of his thoughts. "I made you a new shirt. I noticed some holes in your current one."

Erik nodded in thanks, accepting the shirt. Christine waited expectantly. "Well?" she said finally. "Are you going to put it on so I can take your old shirt? I mean, with all those holes, you'll burn terribly."

"As you wish," he replied, removing the torn garment.

Christine gasped. He was positively skeletal! "Farm Boy!" she scolded. "Why haven't you been eating?"

"I have, Milady," he answered calmly.

"Don't lie to me!" she snapped. "Come on! Inside, Farm Boy! You're going to eat! You look as though you could break in half, and I cannot have that! Come on!"

"As you wish."

_-AFTER EATING—_

"There, don't you feel better?" Christine asked, smiling as she spoke.

Erik could have fainted then and there. She had the most beautiful smile, angelic really. And with those stunningly full lips…

He nodded. "Thank you, Milady," he replied, kissing her hand. "But now I really must return to my work."

"Oh, yes, right then…but you will come back in for dinner, won't you?"

"As you wish."

"Farm Boy!" Christine called.

Erik looked up, hiding a smile. She had been ordering him around all day. Simple things, so he was sure she just wanted him to be near her. Of course, he was more than happy to obey.

"Yes, Milady?" he asked politely.

"Will you help me brush Mozart?" Mozart was her horse, and a fine one, too. His soft coat was a silver-gray colour, and his thick mane and tail were a deep black. Christine loved to brush Mozart's inky locks and pretend she was brushing Erik's. The Farm Boy's hair was darker, but it was still a nice fantasy.

"As you wish," he replied, picking up one of the horse brushes. He began working with Mozart's tail. He didn't want Christine to do this part, for fear of her being kicked.

"Careful, Farm Boy," she warned. "I don't want you hurting Mozart."

"As you wish."

Christine forced herself to keep from smiling.

Erik sang quietly without realizing he was doing so as he cleaned the stables. When he and Christine had been brushing Mozart, their hands touched, if only for a moment. He replayed it over and over in his head, remembering how soft her hands were, how smooth her skin felt. She had lovely nails, as well, and they send a pleasant chill through his body. He didn't understand this, but that's the way with women, isn't it?

"I didn't know you could sing, Farm Boy," Christine whispered in awe as she rode Mozart into the stable. After gracefully dismounting, she led him to his stall to eat, and walked over to Erik. Placing her hand on the back of his neck, she asked shyly, "Will you continue?"

Running one hand through her hair, and stroking her cheek with the other, he replied, "As you wish."

"That was…beautiful," Christine said. "I simply cannot describe it. You seem to put every emotion into the music, and even include emotions I never knew existed. Will you…?"

She stopped. 'No, don't ask him!' she thought. 'That'll ruin everything! I just know it will!'

"Yes, Milady?"

"Oh, um…nothing. Nothing at all."

"Milady, I must know. I want to please you. What do you want?"

Christine bit her bottom lip. "Will you teach me to sing?"

Erik looked at her for a few seconds, his expression almost fearful. Then he smiled. "As you wish."

"Oh, thank you, Erik!" she cried joyfully. He gasped. She had never called him that before, except when she was around her friends! He absolutely loved the way it rolled off her tongue.

Christine moved towards him in a way indicating an embrace. Erik backed up. "I'm covered in sweat, straw, dirt, manure, and God knows what else. I wouldn't dream of spreading that onto something so perfect."

"You needn't dream, my sweet. This is reality. I regret only that it took so long," she added with a sigh.

"Who am I to deprive an Angel of her longing?" he assured her, bringing her closer to him. "Even if the Angel's longing is illogical."

"What does logic have to do with love?" she smiled. "Erik, my dear Erik. I…I love you. Please say you love me in return."

"I have told you that for years, Christine. Have you not heard me? If I am to teach you how to sing, you must learn to listen."

"You mean…?"

"I said 'as you wish,' because I was afraid to say 'I love you.' I wanted nothing more than to tell you what my heart screams, day in and day out. That is why I rarely sleep, my dear. My heart weeps at the thought of another day without you knowing."

Christine gazed into Erik's eyes with the passion of a thousand nations and times. Placing her hand over his heart, she whispered, "May your heart cease its weeping. Let me drink the tears of your bosom, that I shall forever carry a part of you within my soul."

"You ask only for part of me," he whispered back. "My dear, I told you I would deprive you of nothing."

"I've often wondered what it would be like."

"Beg pardon?"

"Heaven," she replied, kissing him.

"Mademoiselle Christine Daae," Erik said, moving down to his knees. "When I return, will you marry me?"

Christine beamed, tears of unspeakable happiness running down her cheeks. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, Erik. Yes! Oh, you have no idea how long I wanted to say that!"

Erik stood up, gently wiping her tears away. "Perhaps as long as I've wanted to hear it."

"I'm sorry I made you wait."

"I must forgive you, for I am about to do the same thing," he stated sadly.

"What do you mean?"

"I asked you to marry me, 'when I return.' I have no money, Christine. I want to make you the happiest of women. I must go out and seek my fortune. I will return as soon as I can, and write to you as often as possible. You deserve everything, my dear. I am determined to give you just that."

"If you want to give me everything, you will stay here with me," she lamented.

"I'm sorry," he replied. "Really, I am. I don't want to leave, but I have to."

"What if you cannot return?"

"Christine," he whispered. "Christine, look at me. Look me in the eyes. I promise you I will return. I swear to you I will. Believe me, when one finds true happiness, and…true love…they always return."

Christine smiled and kissed him. "Erik, you never told me why you wear a mask."

"I realize that," he answered nervously.

"Dear, I understand if you don't feel ready to show me yet, but someday…"

"Someday, yes. Someday I will show you."

"Will you at least tell me why you wear it?"

"I don't think it's fair for an Angel to have to see such repulsiveness. Not even my own mother would look at me."

"Someday, my sweet Erik, when you decide you are ready, I will look at your face with the love your mother was to afraid to show you."

"Afraid to show me?" he asked, obviously confused.

"Intimidated by your brilliance, Erik."

"Really?" he asked with an adorably childlike innocence.

"Of course!" she exclaimed. "Why, hasn't anyone told you that before?"

"No, my dear. Never."

"Well, they're wrong. I think you're absolutely brilliant."

"Thank you," he whispered, though with much difficulty. Christine could tell he was overcome with emotion. Smiling, she kissed his slightly trembling lips.

"Just don't keep me waiting too long."

It had been nearly four months since Erik left. He'd gone by boat, promising to return with money for marriage. Christine waved to him when he left.

"I love you, my Angel!" he'd called from the rail of the ship. "I love you more than I could ever say! I'll write as often as possible! I love you, my dear!"

"I love you, too, Erik!" she'd called back. "I'm afraid I don't know the proper words, either! I can never tell you how much I care for you! Stay safe! I love you!"

As the ship sailed away, the other members of the crew told Erik how lucky he was; he had a beautiful woman who obviously loved him. "She's quite a catch, no pun intended," an older man said, motioning to the boat. "You have to tell us all about her."

Erik smiled. "Well, she's perfect…"

Christine went into town to buy a few groceries and see if Erik had sent another letter.

"Good morning, Mademoiselle," the town grocer, Messieur Firmin, greeted her. "What can I do for you today?"

"Good morning, Messieur," she answered, handing him her basket. He was a kindly old gentleman, always filling her case for her while she read off her list. "Let's see…I need flour, brown sugar…"

"Excuse me," said the postal carrier as he entered the store. "Sorry to interrupt, but I received a letter marked, 'urgent,' for Mademoiselle Christine Daae."

"Oh! Is it from Erik?"

"Well, not exactly," he said nervously.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Here," he replied, handing her the note.

Christine frowned, taking the letter and opening it.

_"Mademoiselle Christine Daae-_

_This is Captain Lefevre. I write this with great sorrow. Your fiancée was killed along with the rest of the crew. The Dread Pirate Robin attacked our ship, but she has allowed me to tell you what happened to your love. Please forgive the shortness and childlike wording of this letter, as I have only a few minutes before my own death. I am deeply sorry for your loss._

_-Lefevre"_

"Oh, God," she whispered. "My sweet Erik."

"What happened?" Messieur Firmin asked.

"I-I-I…I have to go," she replied, leaving her basket on the counter, and the two men in shock.

"Oh, Mozart!" Christine sobbed. "Just take me somewhere away from here."

The horse obeyed, trotting off into the forest. A few miles in, she heard hunters. Curious, she peered out from behind a tree, and immediately covered her mouth to muffle a gasp.

It was Prince Raoul out hunting with Count Philippe.

* * *

A/N: This idea and chapter originally belong to my friend Spirit-Lily on DeviantArt. As she has recently focused her energy on Les Miz, I have received permission to continue the story. As such, I already have certain characters limits I must obey, but I like working with a challenge. More to follow.


	2. I Will Never Love You

A/N: This is based on both book and film version of the Princess Bride, so if there's dialogue you don't recognize, it's probably novel-based. Like the Meg section that's going to be included. Meg will actually show up as 2 characters, as the Princess Margaret, and as an OC, Christine's companion. I apologize now for the rude language Raoul uses about her, but you would prefer this over Meg being bald, I'm certain.

* * *

_"Grandmama, you're joking! You have to be. Death and the Lovers never show up in the same hand! Besides, what kind of writer kills his hero off only one chapter into the book?"_

_"It's what happened, Angel."_

_"Gaston Leroux was a horrid writer."_

_"The story isn't done yet. Hear another chapter. Besides, if you hated that chapter, could it really get worse?"_

_"I don't know..."_

_"Then let me keep reading and you'll find out."_

Raoul's eyes darted along the woods, seeking the leopard that had been released. He caught a glimpse of chocolate brown that stood out against the trees, despite the fact that it should have been invisible. A horse's nicker sounded perhaps ten feet away from him, then was replaced by a girl's melodic voice. "Oh, Mozart, come on, let's go!"

"Who's there?" Philippe asked, drawing his sword. "Damn. They still haven't learned how to do it." The extra finger on his right hand stuck out at an angle.

"Mademoiselle," Raoul started to say, moving towards the voice.

"I-beg-your-pardon-Highness-I'll-leave-you-I-did-not-mean-to intrude," the girl gasped out. "Go, Mozart!" He heard the crisp snap of reigns, and a silver-gray horse shot by, the chestnut curls of its rider whipping in the breeze. Raoul was speechless, but luckily, Philippe was not.

"Certainly prettier than Meg. And the potential has finally started to emerge as more than potential. I almost didn't recognize her," he mused aloud, a lecherous, familiar smile forming on his lips.

"Could you please not bring up Meg?" Raoul hissed. "We've been through this before, I don't care if she is the only Princess of England, she's still just a dancer's bastard."

"Really? I'd think her other assets would more than compensate," Philippe grinned. Raoul sent him a look of daggers, and changed the subject.

"You said you know that girl. How? I think I'd remember seeing her at court."

"I saw her once, during a town festival, singing a folk song," Philippe explained. "She was even more of a mess, back then, but promising. Very promising."

"Move." Raoul ordered, leaping from his white charger. Philippe did so just in time, as Raoul skewered the leopard.

"Bravo. I'd quite forgotten about that beats. Anyway, the girl's name…" Philippe paused for a moment. "Damn. The name escapes me, but I'm sure a few coins could get the answer, if that's what you want." Raoul shook his head.

"What difference does it make? Even if we meet again, the laws are clear. Royalty do not marry commoners."

"You're the next king," Philippe said casually. "Which means your word can soon be law."

_Two years gone by…_

Christine wiped away a tear, as she laid yet another rose on the grave for all who were lost at sea. "Oh, Erik… I feel so empty, my angel." She had felt empty since that first day… every moment she couldn't bear remembering him, she spent cleaning… washing away what had been her fault, so that when the time came, she'd go straight to him. And though she didn't notice, it was having a profound effect on her looks. Her unruly brown curls had darkened into a sleek mahogany mane. Her skin had started gleaming from nightly baths, and her lips had become full and rosy. Only her eyes were unchanged, still a clear deep warm chocolate color. She was eighteen years old. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the world. And she didn't even care.

She hopped back on Mozart, singing sadly. "When I think of you, what I always see, is the face of someone else who once belonged to me. Still, I can hear him sing, and even though our melody plays on… he's gone…." By the time she returned Mozart to the stables, her face was was completely glossed over with tears. That was when the white stallion appeared before her. The young man on the magnificent beast dismounted slowly, regally, giving her the chance to observes his tautly muscled body, his chiseled face, and piercing green eyes. They locked with her own eyes in a moment of tense silence. Christine broke it timidly, and asked, "May I help you, monsieur?"

"I believe you can, mademoiselle… if you marry me," he replied coolly. "And I say that as your Prince."

"Then, I say this as your loyal servant: I refuse," she said quietly, and turned to go. He caught her by the wrist and pulled her back.

"Refusal means death."

"Kill me, then," she cried out, not even facing him.

"Why?" He sounded genuinely shocked. "Would it be so bad to be married to me?"

_**BREAKING OF THE FOURTH WALL**_

_**E/C & ANTI-RAOUL PHANGIRLS: YES!**_

_**THE FOURTH WALL IS REPAIRED**_

"It has nothing to do with you," Christine murmured, "and everything to do with me, sire. Marriage involves love, which is not a pastime at which I excel… and something I never intend to do again."

"Love? Christine… that is your name, I'm told," he looked at her for confirmation. She nodded grimly. "Christine, royal marriages are not made for love. They're made to produce new heirs. Not that it matters, since you're obviously pretty enough for any man to enjoy your company."

"I will never love you, sire," Christine said grimly.

"It doesn't matter either way," Raoul told her.

"Then I accept."

* * *

_Another year..._

"Surrender!" Erik gasped out triumphantly, keeping his blade pressed against the neck of Cecile Jammes.

"Of course, my friend," Jammes held up her hands in defeat, kicking her own sword to Édouard Poligny. "You're a natural, Erik. I've never seen someone master a blade as quickly as you have. Another month, and you'll be a wizard!"

"Wizard?" Erik asked, wiping sweat off the unmasked half of his forehead.

"The only rank above master in fencing," Poligny explained.

"Will that be too long?" Erik murmured, gazing out at the sea. A sharp stab of pain shot through his heart, thinking of Christine. Was she still grieving him or had she healed? Was it possible she was dead….no! She couldn't be dead.

"En garde!" Poligny yelled, running at Erik from behind. Erik caught him by the arm, threw him backwards with a jab to the stomach, and planted one of his feet on Poligny's chest.

"Erik! I hope you finished your duties before deciding to dream about that girl!" Everyone turned to see the small, but powerful black-clad figure of the Dread Pirate Robin, whose eyes were fixed directly on Erik.

"Yes, of course, Captain. The cabin is clean, Ayesha has been released in the hold to go after the vermin, the lamps have been refilled, your dinner is in your study, the charts are organized, and the rum stores are as they were last night," Erik listed.

"All right, Erik. Good work…" Erik braced himself to hear 'sleep well, I'll most likely kill you in the morning.'

"Take another hour. Then, I want to see you in my cabin. Don't be late." The unspoken threat in her words was clear, as she turned on her heel and vanished into the cabin.

Jammes shook her head grimly. "It was good knowing you, Erik."

"I'm not yet dead," Erik replied.

**_(RE) BREAKING OF THE FOURTH WALL_**

**_HANK AZARIA & SPAMALOT CAST: We're off to war, we're not yet dead!_**

**_SIERRA BOGGESS: Love never dies..._**

**_PIANGI: He's-a only a-mostly dead-a._**

**_ME: All Spamalot/Python members, back to iTunes. Sierra, the Once You've Been Possessed files are over there. Signor Piangi, YOU DON'T COME IN UNTIL, LIKE, CHAPTER 20! FUCK OFF!_**

**_THE FOURTH WALL IS (RE)REPAIRED_**

"Would you play for us?" Roger Debienne asked, leaning against the mizzenmast. "Call it our last request to you. Make it something about that girl, Christine."

"I still don't understand what makes her worth defying the captain," Jammes said, a trace of her wounded pride at Erik having rejected her advances earlier leaking through. "Pretty women are in no shortage, Erik."

"Her beauty? You think that's all the appeal she holds for me?" Erik asked in disgust. "I'd almost prefer she weren't so lovely. It would make us closer equals, but as we stand, she is an angel, and I a demon."

"For God's sake, man!" Poligny interrupted, passing him the Stradivarius violin from a recent raid. "We want to hear you play, not extol her virtues in a sonnet!"

"You probably wouldn't know a sonnet was, even if it hit you in the face," Jammes retorted. "Play, Erik. Or sing."

"As you—" Erik started to say, then stopped. That beloved phrase was for Christine alone. "Yes, of course."

He closed his eyes, and placed the bow on the strings, letting the music flow from within his soul. "My Christine… My Christine… lost and gone… lost and gone… The day starts, the day ends ... Time crawls by ... Night steals in, pacing the floor ... The moments creep, yet I can't bear to sleep ... Till I hear you sing ... And weeks pass, and months pass ... Seasons fly ... Still you don't walk through the door ... And in a haze ... I count the silent days ... Till I hear you sing once more ... And sometimes at night time ... I dream that you are there ... But wake holding nothing but the empty air ... And years come, and years go ... Time runs dry ... Still I ache down to the core ... My broken soul ... Can't be alive and whole ... Till I hear you sing once more ... And music, your music ... It teases at my ear ... I turn and it fades away and you're not here ... Let hopes pass, let dreams pass ... Let them die ... Without you, what are they for? I'll always feel ... No more than halfway real ... Till I hear you sing once more …"

"Erik…" He lowered the bow cautiously, and turned to face the captain. "Come with me, now, please." He followed her, his fingers turning white around the neck of the violin. "I'd told myself I was wrong. I said it wasn't true, but it has to be. I thought you were dead."

"Madame, everyone thinks I'm dead, remember?" Erik reminded her. "Are you finally going to kill me?"

"You'd be about twenty-two years of age, yes, Erik?" She asked abruptly, turning up the low light to fully illuminate the quarters.

"Yes… twenty-three, actually." Erik replied, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"No parents?"

"No, Madame," he said quietly. "The old woman who raised me said I was too much of a nasty little monster for them to have wanted me. But I remember my mother faintly…I was maybe five when I was abandoned."

"Five. The same time…" She turned to him, and for the first time, Erik saw her unmasked. She didn't have the face of a pirate, but the kind, soft features of a matronly woman, a former beauty, now weathered slightly by age. "Erik… Take off your mask, please. I need to know that I'm right." Erik shook his head. "Now, Erik."

"No…" he said. "I haven't—"

"If I'm right, I've seen it before, Erik. Take off your mask." Erik grimaced, and slowly pulled away the white leather shield of his face. "I am right." She rushed at him, pulling him close, as if he were an infant. "Oh, Erik, thank God!"

"Madame… Captain Robin… You're crushing me…."

"Not Robin, Erik, not Robin. My name is Antoinette Giry, and unless I'm delusional… I'm your mother." His mother? "Eighteen years ago, I was banished from England, after bearing you and your sister. Pirates attacked our ship, and you were cast into the sea, when they took me captive."

"But that's impossible. If that were true, you couldn't be the Dread Pirate Robin, who's been marauding for twenty-five years."

"The real Dread Pirate Robin has been retired for twenty years, living like a king in the Americas, and ten years ago, his successor, Moncharmin, chose me as his successor. The name's the thing, Erik. Something that can be synonymous with terror for all time. I want to go back to England now, and get back your sister. But I need to leave the ship in good hands. Your hands."

"Everyone will know it's me, Cap— Mother…" Erik replied. "How can I—"

"We'll take on a new crew. I'll stay on for a while, as first mate, then go see if I can convince your father to take us both back. It wouldn't be too hard for you to reclaim Mademoiselle Daaé, if he does."

"Who is my father?" Erik asked. "And this sister you spoke about. Who is she? This is a lot for me to take in, I hope you realize that."

"Yes, yes, of course…. It's just that… for eighteen years, I've been trying to forget, but your song makes me… makes all of us remember what we've left behind, everything that we held dear. For that, I thank you." She sat down in one of the chairs. "Your father is King Charles of England, and your sister is his daughter, Meg."

"You mean to say that I'm—"

"The bastard son of a king, yes. Doesn't matter, though. You could have been legitimate, and he still would have rejected you." She reached out gently to run a hand over his dead face. "My poor boy…"

"Save your pity, please," Erik interrupted. "What is this about Christine? Why would I have to reclaim her?"

"Because the Prince of France intends to marry her." Giry passed him a letter that had been lying on her desk. "Read it."

_Madame:_

_The girl has vanished since our report last year. Upon inquiring, we discovered that she is now in the Palais. It seems the Prince selected her as the next queen of France instead of your daughter. Our best guess is that the nature of Meg's situation was revealed._

_One of the village girls said that when the Prince was escorting the girl back to the castle, she appeared as though she had just signed her own death warrant, rather than accepted a proposal of marriage._

"For God's sake, Erik, be careful!" Erik heard a snap and looked down. The arm of the chair had come off in his hands. His sightline was tinged with fury. Christine… in another man's arms? Kissing another man's lips? Becoming another man's wife? Bearing another man's children?

"Never," he hissed in a soft, deadly voice. "If I have to kill a thousand men, I will kill, and kill again, to have her back, beside me, where she belongs."

"Of course, Erik," Giry said. "As you wish, my son."

_

* * *

Five years after the prologue (two years later)… All of Paris has gathered in the great square to hear the announcement of the great Prince Raoul's bride-to-be._

"My people: a month from now, our country will have its five hundredth anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a lady who was once a commoner like yourselves, but perhaps you will not find her common now." Raoul paused for dramatic effect. "Would you like to meet her?" A great roar of confirmation rose up from the people. "I give you the Princess Christine."

Christine swallowed back the bile mounting in her throat and stepped out among people she'd once called friends and neighbors. She didn't look like one of them, but she wished desperately that she were. She'd have given anything to trade her sparkling, starry tiara and earrings for loose, unadorned hair, and the beautiful white gown for the simple wool and cotton dresses she used to wear. As her emptiness consumed her, her eyes lighted upon a figure cloaked half in shadows and half in a hooded black cloak concealing most of his face. He was dressed entirely in black from the hood to his boots. The only sources of color and light were from his eyes: Cold. Blue. And flashing with deadly cruelty. Christine gasped so rapidly and repeatedly that she fainted.

_XxXxX_

"I'm fine, truly!" Christine huffed, brushing past Lady Meg angrily. "Just let me go!"

"Your Highness—" Meg started to say.

"Meg, please! If I'm royalty now, then treat me like it, and do as I ask!"

"Christine?" She turned to see Raoul and gave him a very false smile. "Are you recovered, angel?" Another piece of her died at his use of the name.

"I was recovered three days ago! I need air. I was just going to take Mozart out to the cemetery. To… get my father's blessing. I'd be back soon, but Lady Meg is trying to stop me."

"If she wants to go, let her," Raoul ordered, kissing Christine warmly. "For how can I refuse anything such a wonder asks of me?" Meg nodded, scurrying away. "Do return quickly, cherie."

_XxXxX_

"Oh, Mozart, let's escape!" Christine cried, mounting him as fast as she could. "If only for this afternoon, let me be free!" Her rides had become her only joy, and the only place where she could sing freely. Anywhere else, people flocked to hear her, and she hated it. Now, in the open fields, she let loose an elegy from her heart: "You were once my one companion… You were all that mattered… You were once my friend and lover… then my world was shattered…"

"A word, _ma demoiselle_?" A voice interrupted her thoughts. She pulled Mozart to a stop, to view a somewhat motley and exotic trio. One was fairly handsome, a Persian, with dusky brown skin, a neatly trimmed beard, deep black eyes and lithe body. His visage was dominated by twin white scars running along his cheeks, and a gleaming sword sat at his hip. Next to him was a tall, broad man, easily the largest she'd ever seen, but gentle-looking, like a sheepdog, with a fuzz of grey hair on his head and across his upper lip. The one in the front was the one who had spoken. He was shorter than the other two, but dressed more elegantly, with hair that was powdered white, and gold filigree in his clothes. "We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby?"

"No, monsieur, I'm sorry," Christine replied. "there is nothing nearby, save the cemetery. Not for miles." A smile began to split the little man's face.

"Then there will be no one to hear you scream." The big man lumbered forward and seized her neck.

"ERIK!" She screamed as blackness consumed her.

_XxXxX_

Nadir Khan Daroga watched Andre carefully tear something in his hands and stick it under the horse's saddle. "What is that you're ripping?" he asked. Andre glanced up, and rolled his eyes.

"It's fabric from an army officer of England."

"What's England?" Gerard inquired, gently setting down the unconscious girl on makeshift cushioning. She moaned softly, something about an angel, but did not awaken.

"The country across the sea! The sworn enemy of France!" Andre snapped, slapping the horse's rear. It took off, running. "Once the horse reaches the Palais, the fabric will make the Prince believe that the English have abducted his love. And when he finds her body dead on the English frontier, his suspicions will be confirmed."

"You never said anything about killing anyone!" Gerard yelped in alarm.

"I've hired you to help me start a war! It's a prestigious line of work, with a long and glorious tradition." Andre scoffed nonchalantly.

"I just don't think it's right, killing an innocent girl," Gerard protested.

"Am I going mad," Andre hissed, "or did the word 'think' escape your lips? You were not hired for your brains, you hippopotamic landmass!"

"I agree with Gerard," Daroga said softly.

"Oh, the sot has spoken!" Andre snorted. "What happens to her is not truly your concern. I will kill her. And remember this, never forget this! When I found you, you were so slobbering drunk, you couldn't buy brandy!" He whirled on Gerard in fury. "And you! Friendless! Brainless! Helpless! Hopeless! Do you want me to send you back to where you were? UNEMPLOYED? IN GREENLAND?" As Andre stormed away, Gerard's big eyes began to fill with tears, and his fat lips began to tremble. Daroga placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"That Andre… he can fuss," he said warmly.

"Fuss… fuss…" Gerard repeated slowly. "I think he likes to scre-am at us." Smiles began to form on the faces of both men at the age old rhyming game.

"Probably he means no harm." Daroga countered.

"He's really very short on charm." Gerard was fully grinning now, and Daroga returned it.

"Oh, Gerard. You have a great gift for rhyme."

"Yes, yes. Some of the time." Gerard chuckled softly.

"Enough of that!" Andre barked.

"Gerard? Are there rocks ahead?" Daroga asked casually.

"If there are, we'll all be dead!"

"NO MORE RHYMES, NOW! I MEAN IT!" Andre bellowed.

"Anybody want a peanut?" Gerard cracked.

"Gaaaaaaah!"

* * *

Points of discussion:

Christine's first song is 'When I Look at You' from The Scarlet Pimpernel, with some minor text alterations.

The interlude with characters named from the original novel was my idea, but I have next to no clue where the idea for Mme. Giry being Erik's mother came from. I think it was the Phantom Reviewer's audio-only review of Phantom Musicals.

Christine's princess dress is the one Emmy Rossum wears in Think of Me for the 2004 movie.

Andre's use of ma demoiselle is not a typo. With a space, it literally translates to 'My Young Lady.'

The Fezzik character is Gerard Carriere from the 1990 TV series, because Spirit-Lily couldn't think of anyone else. See you next time!

The first reviewer who can catch the (slightly altered) lyrics from POTO in Erik's interlude gets cookies and time alone with a Phantom or Rent character in "When Epic Musical Characters Meet." And no, I do not mean Till I Hear You Sing.


	3. The Man In Black

Christine turned her face to the ocean._ Is this where Erik died? Perhaps… _she felt a tear begin to trace her cheek.

"We'll reach the Cliffs by dawn," the little man said, smiling widely._ I'll be dead by dawn. They're going to throw me off a cliff, is that it?_ The Persian glanced over the back of the boat, his lips pursed with distaste. "Why are you doing that?"

"I'm making sure no one is following us," the Persian replied timidly.

"That would be inconceivable," the little man said smugly. Christine summoned every ounce of courage she had to attempt at a bluff.

"Despite what you think, you will be caught," she said quietly. "And when you are, the Prince will see you all hanged."

"We'd best keep our hands at the level of our eyes, then," the big man said. "Is that right, Daroga?" The Persian man nodded.

"Of all the necks on this boat, principessa," the Sicilian said, "the one you should be worried about is your own." Daroga looked back again. "Stop doing that! We can all relax, it's almost over!"

"Andre, you are sure nobody's follow' us?" Daroga asked.

"As I told you, it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways inconceivable." Andre replied. "No one in England knows what we've done, and no one in France could have gotten here so fast." He leaned back contentedly, like a cat, then his eyes flickered back open. "Out of curiosity, why do you ask?"

"No reason. It's only... I just happened to look behind us and something is there."

"What?" All three men hurried to the back of the boat. Christine caught a glimpse of the ghostly, silhouetted ship in the moonlight. Andre scoffed. "Probably some local fisherman, out for a pleasure cruise, at night... in... eel-infested waters…" Christine didn't hear the last part, because she'd just realized that if they weren't watching her, she could escape, and had dived into the sea. "Jump in after her!" Andre yelled, flapping his arms like a bird.

"I don't swim!" Daroga said. Both he and Andre looked to Gerard, who shook his head.

"I only dog-paddle."

"Gaaaaaaaah!" Andre was still flapping his arms leaning over the boat. "Veer left! Left!" By this time, Christine was maybe fifty feet away from them. She'd have been further, but the thick cloth of her dress was slowing her down. An unearthly wail pierced the night, and Andre let out a laugh.

"Do you know what that sound is, Highness? Those are the Shrieking Eels. If you don't believe me, just wait. They always grow louder when they're about to feed on human flesh!" A snarl sounded next to her, and Christine shrieked in horror. The monsters circling her were long, shining silver in the moonlight, and foaming at the mouth. "If you swim back now, I promise, no harm will come to you. I doubt you'll get such an offer from the eels." _Erik, help me! _One of the largest eels started to charge her, and she closed her eyes, waiting to die. Surprisingly, she didn't feel teeth tearing into her face, but the splash of water. Gerard had smacked the eel on the snout, and was pulling her back into the boat. "Put her down! Just put her down!" Andre ordered, picking up a coil of rope. Gerard did as he was told, and Daroga looked behind them yet again at the phantom ship.

"I think he's getting closer!"

"He's no concern of ours! Sail on!" Andre barked, before turning back to binding Christine's hands. "I suppose you think you're brave, don't you?"

"Only compared to some," Christine replied icily. She realized she was a coward. Did it really matter where she died? Why hadn't she let the eels devour her? It would have gotten her to Erik sooner.

_XxXxX_

"_Vekh_!" Daroga called. "He's right on top of us!" Indeed, the other ship was closing in on their own quite swiftly. "I wonder if he's using the same wind that we are using."

"Whoever he is, he's too late! See?" Andre jabbed a finger and Christine caught her breath in feared awe. The massive wall of rock looming in front of them could be touching the sky for all she knew. They were aptly named. "The Cliffs of Insanity! Hurry up! Move the thing! And… that other thing!" As the men did as Andre asked, Christine tried to get a closer look at their pursuer, and gasped. Her mind had to be playing tricks on her… or else the same man from the announcement ceremony was the one following them. _Does he want something from me? What? _Daroga pulled her up, and led her off the boat. Andre continued to gloat as Daroga fastened Christine to some kind of harness the giant was wearing. "We're safe! Only Gerard is strong enough to go up our way. He'll have to sail around for hours 'til he finds a harbor." Christine winced as Gerard started to pull them up. She was terrified of what would happen if Gerard lost his grip. _Erik, I'm so scared. Give me strength, angel. _But she couldn't find it in her to open her eyes.

"He's climbing the rope," Daroga whispered in amazement. "And he's gaining on us."

"Inconceivable," Andre breathed. _He_ is _after me_, Christine thought. "Faster!"

"I thought I was going faster," Gerard whimpered.

"You were supposed to be this colossus!" Andre fumed. "You were this great legendary thing! And yet, he gains!"

"Well, I'm carrying three people," Gerard protested. "And he's got only himself!"

"I do not accept excuses! I'm just going to have to find myself a new giant, that's all!" Andre spat furiously.

"Don't say that, Andre. Please?" Every moment seemed an hour as they climbed. Finally, Christine felt someone pull her out of the harness and throw her to the ground. She opened her eyes to see the remains of a castle: They had reached the top. Andre was cutting the rope they'd used, tied to a boulder. He finished just as Gerard lumbered over the edge. Christine winced at the though of the man in black falling so long a fall. "He's got very good arms." Gerard remarked after a moment.

"He didn't fall?" Andre yelled. "Inconceivable!"

"Stop saying that word!" Daroga hissed. "It was in-con-ceiv-ab-le that anyone was following us, but when we turned around, the man in black was there. It was in-con-ceiv-ab-le that he would catch us, but he gained. Now, it is in-con-ceiv-ab-le that he did not fall, and _vekh_," he paused for a moment. "See how he rises."

"Whoever he is, he's obviously seen us with the Princess, and must therefore die. Gerard, carry the girl. Daroga, catch up with us when he's dead. If he falls, fine. If not, the sword."

"I want to do him left-handed." Daroga said.

"What? We're in a hurry!"

"But if I use my right...it will be over too quickly."

"Oh, have it your way!" Andre scowled. Gerard pulled Christine up and touched Daroga's shoulder.

"You be careful. People in masks cannot be trusted."

"Yes, they can," Christine murmured softly.

"I'm waiting!" Andre yelled again.

_XxXxXxX_

Nadir practiced his steps for a few moments, then glanced down at the man in black. "Hello down there!" The man in black didn't answer. "Slow going?"

"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but this is not as easy as it looks, so if you wouldn't mind…" His meaning was clear.

"Sorry," Nadir nodded. He practiced a moment longer, then went back. "I don't suppose you could speed things up?"

"If you're in such a hurry, monsieur, you could lower a rope, or a tree branch, or find something useful to do."

"Well, I could do that. We've got some rope up here. But I don't think you would accept my help, since I'm only waiting around up here to kill you."

"That does put a damper on our relationship. But I'm afraid you'll just have to wait."

"I hate waiting," Nadir sulked. "I could give you my word as a Persian."

"No good," he man in black snorted. "I've known too many Persians, and they've taught me that their oaths are made to catch gulls with."

"Is there any way you'll trust me?"

"Nothing comes to mind," the man in black said, trying to readjust his grip.

"I swear on the soul of my father, Gazin Khan, who was the Daroga of Mazanderan before me that you will reach the top alive!" Nadir yelled.

"Throw me the rope." Nadir unwound a length and lowered it down. The man in black grabbed it, and started climbing while Nadir pulled. As he collapsed on the ground, Nadir hoisted him up. "_Merci_." He started to draw his blade.

"No-no-no, we can wait until you're ready," Nadir held out his hand. The man in black sat on one of the rocks and pulled off one of his boots. Several rocks dropped out.

"Again, _merci_," he said. "If you do kill me, at least I will die comfortably."

"Er…" Nadir grimaced. "I don't mean to pry, but you don't, by any chance, happen to have six fingers on your right hand, do you?" The man in black's eyes widened.

"Do you always begin conversations this way?"

"No… but my father was slaughtered by a six-fingered man." The man in black held up his right hand. Five fingers. "Ah. My father… besides being chief enforcer, he was a great sword-smith. The six-fingered man came and requested a special sword, and my father took the job. He slaved away for a year before it was done." He drew the blade, his father's and his own labor of love, and offered it to the man in black, who took it gingerly.

"I've never seen its equal," he remarked.

"I doubt anyone has. The six-fingered man returned, and demanded the sword, but at one-tenth his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the six-fingered man slashed him through the heart. I loved my father. So, naturally, I challenged his murderer to a duel. I failed."

"How old were you?"

"I was eleven. The six-fingered man left me alive… but he gave me these," Nadir ran a finger along his scars.

"A Glasgow smile," the man in black said grimly. "Repulsive practice."

"True enough. And ever since, for the past twenty years, I have been practicing the sword, so that when we meet again, I will not fail. I will go up to the six-fingered man and say, 'hello. My name is Nadir Khan Daroga. You killed my father. Prepare to die.'"

"I see," The man in black stood. "Well, not that your story was not very moving, but I grow impatient."

"You're ready, then?"

"Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair."

"You seem a decent fellow. I hate to kill you," Nadir bowed.

"You seem a decent fellow. I hate to die." The man in black smiled grimly.

"But one of us must. So, begin." They began to move slowly and carefully. Nadir was glad to see that the man in black was left-handed. It made things more are using Bonetti's defense against me, uh?" He grinned. It had been a long time since learning that one.

"I thought it fitting, considering the rocky terrain," the man in black replied, what little of his face that was shown completely calm.

"Naturally, you must expect me to attack with Capo Ferro."

"Naturally, but I find that Thibault cancels Capo Ferro, don't you?" The man in black was smirking now. Nadir was thrilled. The man in black was becoming more of a challenge by the minute.

" Unless the enemy hasn't studied his Agrippa, which I have!" He launched himself in the spiral, as he'd been taught. Neither of them had missed a step, and the two blades continued to clash. "You are wonderful!"

"Thank you. I've worked hard to become so."

Nadir let a genuine smile form on his lips. "I admit it, you are better than I am."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Because I know something you don't know."

"And what is that?"

"I am not left-handed." In one quick swipe, Nadir changed hands, and so did the duel. Every move the man in black made was now easily countered.

"You're amazing!" The man in black sounded genuinely impressed, but also amused.

"I ought to be after twenty years," Nadir said, not caring if he boasted. He pressed the man in black into a corner.

"There is something I ought to tell you…" The man in black grunted, his own grin becoming more pronounced.

"Tell me."

"I'm not left-handed either." The man in black switched his own sword to his right hand, and once again they were evenly matched.

"Who are you?" Nadir asked in wonder.

"No one of consequence."

"I must know."

"Get used to disappointment."

"Very well," Nadir shrugged. They continued, until the man in black moved his blade so quickly Nadir lost sight of it and was disarmed. He knelt, panting._ Forgive me, Father. _"Kill me quickly."

The man in black clucked his tongue. " I would as soon destroy one of the immortal composers as an artist like yourself. However, since I can't have you following me either.…" There was a loud thump, and Nadir saw only blackness.

_XxXxX_

"He's beaten Daroga!" Gerard exclaimed.

"INCONCEIVABLE! Give her to me. Catch up with us quickly." Andre ordered, pulling the girl from Gerard's arms.

"What do I do?" Gerard asked.

"FINISH HIM, FINISH HIM! YOUR WAY!" Andre screamed.

"Oh good, my way. Thank you, Andre." Gerard's brow furrowed. "Which way's my way?"

"Pick up one of those rocks, get behind the boulder. In a few minutes the man in black will come running around the bend. The minute his head is in view, HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!" Andre was on the verge of a nervous breakdown by now.

Gerard pursed his lips in distaste. "My way's not very sportsmanlike."

_**BREAKING OF THE FOURTH WALL**_

_**ME: I hope you all realize that it's pissing me off to have to keep typing 'the man in black.' It just keeps making me think of sci-fi movies, and this is supposed to be a tale of true love and high adventure. This is also why perceived reality annoys me. I mean, we all know who the man in black really is, right? Sheesh, I've already written it 26 times, not including the two in this mini-rant! But for the time being, he must remain thus dubbed. I hate epithets.**_

_**THE FOURTH WALL IS REPAIRED**_

The man in black was running up the path. He could see the merest trace of the Princess's chocolate curls, but it was enough. So very close… At that moment, a rock smashed not two feet in front of him. He whipped out his blade and turned to face a veritable behemoth, albeit a gentle one.

"I did that on purpose. I didn't have to miss," the giant said.

"I believe you. So what happens now?" the man in black asked cautiously.

"We face each other as God intended...sportsmanlike. No tricks, no weapons, skill against skill alone," Gerard replied.

"You mean, you'll put down your rock and I'll put down my sword and we'll try and kill each other like civilized people?"

"Or I can kill you now."

The man in black shook his head. "Frankly, I think the odds are slightly in your favor at hand fighting, my good monsieur."

"It's not my fault being the biggest and the strongest. I don't even exercise." Gerard casually tossed the rock aside. The man in black set down his sword, and lunged straight for the stomach. No effect. He tried again. Nothing.

"Look, are you just fiddling around with me or what?"

"I just want you to feel you're doing well. I hate for people to die embarrassed." The giant made a swipe, and the man in black swiftly ducked underneath him, rolling up on his feet. "You're quick!"

"And a good thing, too," the man in black replied, dodging another punch.

"Why are you wearing a mask? Were you burned by acid or something like that?" Gerard asked curiously.

"Oh no, it's just they're terribly comfortable. I think everyone'll be wearing them in the future," the man in black replied, very thin sarcasm layering over his good-natured tone. He saw a chance, and jumped up on Gerard's back, wrapping his arms around the giant's throat.

"I just figured why you give me so much trouble…" Gerard gasped out, trying to crush him against one of the rocks.

"Why's that, do you think?"

"Well, I haven't fought just one person for so long. I've been specializing in groups. Battling gangs for local charities, that kind of thing. And you use different moves when you're fighting half a dozen people than when you only have to be worried about ... one." Gerard collapsed, unconscious. The man in black rolled him over and checked his heartbeat.

"I do not envy you the headache you will have when you awake. But, in the meantime, abandon thought, and let the dream descend."

_XxXxX_

Raoul traced the steps a third time. "Mon Dieu! The ones who fought this duel… both wizards! I've never seen anything like it!"

"Who won?" Philippe asked. "How did it end?"

"The loser… ran off alone, and the winner followed those footprints... toward England." Raoul pointed at a two pairs of large prints and set of women's footprints that stopped a few yards later, as if she'd been lifted up.

"Shall we track them both?" Philippe examined one of the nicks in a stone.

"The loser is nothing. Only Christine matters," Raoul replied grimly. "Clearly this was all planned by warriors of England. We must all be ready for whatever lies ahead."

"But what if this is a trap?"

"I always think everything could be a trap...which is why I'm still alive," Raoul smiled slightly.

_XxXxX_

The man in black emerged from the trees into an open area. His final opponent was sitting behind a stone, laid as though he were about to have a picnic, instead of assassinate a young woman. To remind the man in black of his true intentions, Andre had a long thin dagger pressed against her white throat. "So it is down to you, and it is down to me." The man in black slowly stepped towards him. "If you wish her dead, by all means, keep moving forward." Andre applied a hint more pressure and a single drop of scarlet blood appeared at the edge of the blade. The man in black froze.

"Let me explain-Perhaps an arrangement can be reached?"

"There's nothing to explain. You're trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen. There will be no arrangement, and you're killing her." A second bead of blood joined the first, and Christine whimpered.

"Well if there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse," the man in black observed. "A point of no return. The bridge is crossed, and burned, yet we can progress no further."

"I'm afraid so. I can't compete with you physically, and you're no match for my brains," Andre said smugly.

"You're that smart, eh?"

"Let me put it this way: have you ever heard of Plato, Aristotle, Socrates?"

"Yes."

"Morons."

"Really?" The man in black had his own smug smile now. "In that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits."

"For the princess? To the death?" Andre asked eagerly. The man in black nodded. "I accept." He sheathed the dagger.

"_Eh bien_. Then, pour the wine," the man in black commanded, sitting down and pulling out a small vial with a stopper shaped like a skull. He pulled it out and handed it to Andre. "Inhale it only. Do not touch it."

Andre took a sniff. "I smell nothing."

"What you do not smell is called Iocane powder. It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is among the more deadly poisons known to man." Andre raised an eyebrow. This was getting interesting. The man in black took both goblets and placed them behind his back. After a moment, he returned them to their settings, and tossed away the vial. "All right. Where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun. It ends when you decide and we both drink, and find out who is right... and who is dead."

Andre snickered. "But it's so simple. All I have to do is divine from what I know of you: are you the sort of man who would put the poison into his own goblet or his enemy's? Now, a clever man would put the poison into his own goblet, because he would know that only a great fool would reach for what he was given. I am not a great fool, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you must have known I was not a great fool, you would have counted on it, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me."

"You've made your decision then?" The man in black asked, smiling coldly.

"Not remotely. Because iocane comes from Australia, as everyone knows, and Australia is entirely peopled with criminals, and criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are not trusted by me, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you."

"Truly, you have a dizzying intellect."

"Wait til I get going! Now, where was I?"

"Australia."

"Yes, Australia. And you must have suspected I would have known the powder's origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me."

"Now, you're just stalling."

"You'd like to think that, wouldn't you?" Andre yelled. "You've beaten my giant, which means you're exceptionally strong, so you could've put the poison in your own goblet, trusting on your strength to save you, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But, you've also bested my Persian, which means you must have studied, and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal, so you would have put the poison as far from yourself as possible, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me!"

The man in black was on the verge of laughing now. "You're trying to trick me into giving away something. It won't work."

" IT HAS WORKED! YOU'VE GIVEN EVERYTHING AWAY! I KNOW WHERE THE POISON IS!"

"Really? Then you try my patience. Make your choice."

"I will, and I choose - What in the world can that be?" Andre asked suddenly, jabbing a finger at cluster of trees.

"What? Where? I don't see anything."

Andre tried in vain to suppress his sniggers. "Well, I- I could have sworn I saw something. No , let's drink. Me from my glass, and you from yours."

The man in black nodded, and calmly raised it to his lips, downing the entire glass in a single gulp. "You guessed wrong."

"You only think I guessed wrong! That's what's so funny! I switched glasses when your back was turned! Ha ha! You fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders - The most famous of which is 'never get involved in a land war in Asia' - but only slightly less well-known is this: 'Never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line'! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha…" At that moment, the poison finished taking its toll. Andre collapsed, his smile still frozen on his face. The man in black leaned forward to untie Christine's blindfold.

"I heard everything," she whispered quietly. "I can't believe it. All that time it was your cup that was poisoned."

"_Au contraire, mademoiselle_," the man in black said, cutting the ropes at her wrists. "They were both poisoned. Either way he chose, I had to win. I've spent the last few years building up an immunity to Iocane powder. But I let him die laughing. Pray I do as much for you." Without another word, he started pulling her away.

_XxXxX_

_Points of discussion:_

_Daroga's exclamation, 'vekh' is the Punjabi word for 'look!'_

_Most of the dialogue was taken verbatim from the original script of The Princess Bride. I cannot take credit for William Goldman/S. Morgenstern's comic genius._

_The sword-fight is damn near impossible to describe, so just go on YouTube and search "GREAT SCENE - The Princess Bride." I freaking love both Mandy Patinkin and Cary Elwes…*fangirly sigh.*_

_I did sprinkle the man in black's dialogue with bits from the original novel, The Point of No Return and Down Once More._

_Regarding Andre, I don't see why he can't be a Sicilian. After all, in the 2004 movie, he does throw around all those big Italian words like 'principessa bella diva,' and 'brava, magnifica, stupenda.'_


	4. Love Always Returns

Am I William Goldman? No. Am I Gaston Leroux? No. Andrew Lloyd Webber? Nope. S. Morgenstern? Don't think so. So, do YOU think I own T_he Princess Bride_ or _Phantom of the Opera?_ If you do, please stop reading this, and go see a psychiatrist.

* * *

Raoul traced the outline of whoever had fallen. "The one that won the duel… he has beaten a giant," he breathed in amazement, remounting his charger. "If Christine dies, I will make every man in England suffer."

_XxXxX_

"Catch your breath," the man in black ordered, roughly releasing Christine against a craggy rock. She took in a ragged gasp.

"_Je vous en prie_, Monsieur, if you release me, whatever you ask for ransom, you'll get it, I promise you!"

The man in black started to laugh. "You promise me? Oh, yes, the promise of a woman is worth quite a bit these days. You're very funny, Highness!" He leaned in towards her, his cold eyes locking with hers. "But did it occur to you that perhaps I'm not interested in money?"

"I was giving you a chance!" Christine protested. "But it doesn't matter where you take me. There's no greater hunter than Prince Raoul. He can track a falcon on a cloudy day, and he can find you." _And punish you for mocking precious memories with a mask._

"Oh, you think your dearest love will save you, is that it?" The man in black sneered.

"I _never_ said he was my dearest love!" Christine hissed quietly. "But, yes, he will save me, that I know."

"_Mon Dieu, _what a wonder! An honest woman, who admits she does not love her fiancée."

"He knows. He's known, since he asked me to marry him, that I don't love him."

"Are not capable of love is what you mean," the man in black taunted.

_"How dare you! I have loved more deeply than a cowardly killer like yourself could ever dream!_" Christine screamed. He raised his hand, and started to slap her, halting inches from her face.

"**That **was a warning, altesse," he said, pulling her up to look into his eyes. "But next time, my hand flies on its own, and much more freely, for where I come from, there are penalties when a woman lies."

"But I was telling the—" He raised his hand again, cutting her off.

"I think your breath is sufficiently caught."

_XxXxX_

Raoul examined the stopper. "_La mort rouge_," he realized. "Pirate-made. It enhances poisons over time. The skull gives it away. And the poison was Iocane. I'd bet my life on it."

"You think they used it on her?"

"No," Raoul gestured to a set of footprints. "Or, if they did, it was not here. Those steps are at least an hour old. She was alive then. But if she is otherwise when I find her, I shall be very put out."

_XxXxX_

The man in black pushed her down onto a large branch on the brink of a ledge halfway down an enormous ravine. "Rest, princesse." Christine was getting tired of being grabbed, pulled, tied, thrown, and pushed as all these men saw fit.

"I'm a fool for not seeing it before. Your cruelty reveals everything to me now. You're the Dread Pirate Robin. Admit it!" The pirate bowed, a wide, cruel smile on his face.

"With pride. And what can I do for you?"

"You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces," Christine said coldly. "You can burn for eternity!"

"Tsk-tsk-tsk," Robin shook his head. "Hardly a pretty, complimentary mind to match that face of yours, your Highness. Why loose your venom on me?"

"You killed my love."

"It's possible. I kill a lot of people. Who was this love of yours? Another prince like this one, ugly, rich, and scabby?" He leaned back against a branch lazily. "One whose death you were hoping for only after he'd left you everything?"

"No! He wasn't any of those things, except…"

"Except what? Go on, say it, princess."

"I don't know what he looked like entirely… he wore a white mask, one that covered half his face. And he wasn't old, he was only four years older than I was. But he was perfect to me… with eyes like the sea after a storm, deep, pure, and fathomless, with all the sadness of the world, yet they could be filled with joy and adoration just as easily…" she trailed off, tears beginning to turn her own eyes glassy. "Then, on the high seas, _your_ ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Robin never takes prisoners."

"Well, I can't afford to make exceptions. You see, once it gets out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and it's nothing but work, work, work all the time. A reputation of twenty-seven years can be destroyed in a moment. Do you have any idea how irritating ordinary piracy is?"

"You mock my pain!"

"Life _is_ pain, Highness. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something." Christine glared but said nothing. She would give him no more to use against her. "Hmmm… in a mask… yes, I do believe I remember this farm boy of yours. This would be what, five years ago?" She nodded silently. "Does it bother you to hear?"

"Nothing you can say will upset me."

"Aaron, wasn't it?"

"_Erik_," she corrected. "Do not do his memory further mockery, for his own sake."

"Erik, then. Yes. He died well, that should please you. Went down with a hell of fight as well. He took several of my best men before we subdued him. When he realized his fate, there were no bribe attempts, or blubbering. He simply said, 'Please… please, I need to live.' It was the 'please' that caught my memory. I asked him what was so important for him here. 'True Love,' he replied. And then he spoke of a girl of unsurpassed beauty in voice, face, and spirit, and eternal faithfulness. I can only assume he meant you. You should bless me for destroying him before he found out what you really are. And before you saw him in full."

"And what am I?" Christine demanded, rising with hatred. "Why should it matter what I saw him as? I loved him!"

"Did you? Faithfulness he talked of, mademoiselle, your enduring faithfulness. He told me about you. He gave you his music, made your song take wing, and you repaid him by denying him and betraying him? Tell me truly, when you found out he was gone, did you get engaged to your prince that same hour, or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?"

"You mocked me once. Never do it again! I died that day!" Christine screamed. Robin glanced up at the top of the ravine, where the silhouettes of a team of riders were running. "_And you can die too, for all I care_!" She ripped away his black mask in her hand, and pushed him down the chasm. As he fell, she heard him call out three simple words.

"**_AS….YOU...WISH!_**"

"Oh, Erik… oh, my angel, what have I done to you now?" She threw herself down after him.

_XxXxX_

"They disappeared," Raoul said darkly. "He must have seen us closing in. Itmight account for his panicking into error. Unless I am wrong, and I am never wrong, he's taking her dead into the fire swamp."

_XxXxX_

Christine glanced to her side. Erik's white mask lay just with in her arm's reach, his back to her. She took it in her hands gently, smiling slightly to see that she'd managed to cling to the black mask during her descent. "Christine… Christine…" Erik whispered her name so sweetly, her soul melted.

"Yes, Erik?"

"Please… my mask… give it back. That is, if you can move at all."

"Move?" she repeated. "Erik, you're alive… or else, I'm seeing a ghost. But if it is you, if you want, I could fly."

"Please, Christine. You know I'm neither ghost nor angel. Just a man. A monstrous one, but a man nonetheless." He rolled over on his side, his hand raised to cover his face.

"Let me see," she whispered, gently pulling his hand down.

"Wait, no!" Too late. She saw it: that mass of twisted scars, exposed bone and veins that made up the right half of his face.

"Oh, Erik… is this what you hid for so long? Such a hurt?" She slowly traced her fingers along one of the scars, and wrapped her arms tightly around him. "I wouldn't care if you had no face at all. Well…" she smiled softly. "Just so long as there's one part of you I can have."

He returned her embrace, filling her with a new warmth. "I told, love always returns. Why couldn't you wait for me?"

"But… you were dead."

"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while," he whispered, stroking her hair.

"I will never doubt again."

"There will never be a need." He kissed her, and she was reborn from her death into new life, new love. When he finally pulled away from her, she hung her head.

"I'm sorry. I forgot, didn't I? I said when you were ready, I'd look at your face. You weren't ready, were you?"

"If I'd known how you were going to react, I'd have let you see long ago," Erik replied with a smile. "But could I please have at least _one_ of them back? Somehow, my face feels...naked." She giggled and handed him the white half-mask. He replaced it, stood, and offered her his hand. "Milady?"

"Don't tease me. I could have you imprisoned," she teased, accepting his hand to help her rise. "But, what now?"

"Now? Look!" Erik pointed up at the top of the ravine, grinning devilishly. "That foppish pig fiancée of yours is too late. A few more steps, and we'll be safe in the fire swamp."

_XxXxX_

"WHAT?" Christine shrieked in alarm. "Erik, the stories… we'll never survive!"

"Nonsense," Erik said calmly. "You're only saying that because no one ever has. There has to be a first time for everything, no?"

Christine pulled back. "Erik, I can't! I dreamed I would die here once."

"We all did, angel. How old were you? Seven?"

"Maybe… it was a long time ago, but I'm still frightened. Don't make me do this." Erik wrapped an arm around her sweetly.

"There's no need to be afraid, Christine. I didn't steal you away from those assassins, only to lose you in a swamp. You trust me, don't you?"

"Y-yes," she stammered. "I do, Erik. We can go." As they passed through the first wall of trees, the smell was the first thing to hit them. "Ugh!" It was unlike anything she had ever smelled before, a repulsive blend of sulfur, moss, rotten flesh and fruit. A cacophony of animal noises echoed through and Christine dug her nails into Erik's arm.

"It's not that bad," Erik remarked casually. Christine looked at him in disbelief. "What? I'm not saying I'd like to build a summer home here, but the trees are actually quite lovely." Christine shook her head, and started walking. A loud popping sound began to reverberate through the swamp, and as she took another step, a large burst of flames exploded, catching onto her skirt. She shrieked in horror, but Erik remained unperturbed, calmly grabbing an untouched section of the dress and used it to smother the blaze. "Well now, that was an adventure. Singed a bit, were you?" Christine shook her head.

"You?" Erik merely smiled and shook his head. "Is it safe to keep going?" Another popping rumbled, and Erik spun her in the other direction just as another flame spurt flared up.

"Well, one thing I will say. The fire swamp certainly does keep you on your toes," he said with a grin. Christine nodded timidly. "Come on, then, angel. This will all soon be but a happy memory," he sliced off a branch hanging in front of them. " Because Robin's ship _Revenge_ is anchored at the far end. And I, as you guessed, am Robin."

"But how is that possible, since he's been marauding twenty-seven years, and not only did you leave me five years ago, but you're only twenty-five?" Christine asked.

"I myself am often surprised at life's little quirks. See, what I told you before about saying "please" was true. It intrigued Robin, as did my descriptions of your beauty. Finally, Robin decided something. She said, "All right Erik, I've never had a valet, you can try if you'd like. I'll most likely kill you in the morning." Three years she said that. "Good night Erik. Good work. Sleep well. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.' It was a fine time for me. I was learning to fence, fight, anything anyone would teach me. And Robin and I eventually became friends. And then it happened."

"What? Go on."

Erik lifted her up gently. "Well, Robin had grown so rich, she wanted to retire. So she took me to his cabin, and told me her secret. "I am not the Dread Pirate Robin", she said. "My name is Antoinette Giry. I inherited the ship from the previous dread pirate Robin, just as you will inherit it from me. The man I inherited it from was not the real dread pirate Robin either. His name was Moncharmin. The real Robin has been retired twenty years and living like a king in the Americas.'" Christine brushed aside several vines hanging in their way. "Thank you. Then she explained that the name was the important thing for inspiring the necessary fear. You see, no one would surrender to the dread pirate Erik. So we sailed ashore, took on an entirely new crew, and she stayed aboard for a while as first mate, all the time calling me Robin. Once the crew believed, she left the ship, and I have been Robin ever since. Except now that we're together, I shall retire and hand the name over to someone else."

"There's something else, isn't there?" Christine asked as he set her down.

"Well… yes, there is. You've become exceptionally perceptive. I can't hide anything from you anymore, can I, cherie?" Erik smiled. "Madame Giry is also my mother. The woman I called my parent only took me in after I was cast into the sea. I can't say I'm not pleased. In fact, I'm glad to know that heartless bitch and I share no real bond."

"Erik!" Christine yelped, spinning away as a new flame spurt shot up.

"I promised, remember? You're safe, angel. Anyway, my mother revealed that I have a twin sister. When my mother left the ship, she was looking for Meg, who lives here in England, with my father."

"You have a father, too? Erik, that's wonderful! We can find them, and all be a family!" Erik's face darkened at the thought. Why would Charles want anything to do with his bastard children? "Is everything alright?"

"My father is the one that banished my mother and me from England in the first place. He is not part of the future, Christine."

"Banished from England…? But then…only one person could… you're saying…"

"It doesn't matter," Erik said curtly. "I'd prefer not to discuss it. As far as I'm concerned, he is not part of the future. Only you. Is everything clear?" Christine nodded. She took another step, and was swallowed up by a patch of white sand. _Lightning sand!_ He cursed, drawing his sword and cutting a vine, before closing his eyes and diving in after her. He felt around through the sand, before catching hold of something silky: her hair. Moving his hand down further, he caught hold of her sleeve and pulled her close before pulling both of them up out of the sand. Christine collapsed next to him, coughing and gasping. Erik reached out to her, and stroked her hair. His grip tightened as he caught a glimpse of a snarling rat's maw. Christine didn't see it, and simply kept sobbing, clinging to him tightly. "Hush, angel. It's alright."

"Erik, we'll never survive! We may as well die here!"

"No, no. We have already succeeded." Erik raised her up. " We can keep going. I mean, what are the three terrors of the fire swamp? One, the flame spurt. No problem. There's a popping sound preceding each, we can avoid that. Two, the lightning sand, but you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too."

"Erik," Christine grabbed his arm. "what about the R.O.U.S's?"

"What, the Rodents of Unusual Size? Well, that's not going to be very difficult to deal with. I don't think they exist." One of the rats chose that moment to pounce on him. Erik was knocked the ground as it tore at his clothes and sank its teeth into his shoulder. Erik thrust one of his hands into the beast's mouth, and pounded on its snout with his other.

"Erik!" Christine screamed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another rat scurrying towards her, and… a man? Erik thrust the one on top of him to the side, and drew his sword.

"If these monsters are yours, Monsieur, call them off, or I'll have no choice but to destroy them!" He stabbed one that was coming from behind.

"They're not mine, I'm just the ratcatcher!"

"Then, catch them! Eek!" Christine shrieked, grabbing a branch to beat back one that was trying to bite her feet. Erik ran it through just as it sunk its teeth into her.

"Ye're killing me beauties!" The rat-catcher wailed. "I only kills 'em after they're nice an' plump. I keeps their tails and eats their meat!"

"That is absolutely loathsome!" Christine's face was pale with disgust as she jumped away from another rat.

"I'm sorry, Monsieur, but it's them or us!" Erik yelled, throwing the final rat into an erupting flame spurt. "And I choose us!" Saying so, he ran it through three more times. The animal let out a final moan and dropped to the ground. He turned to the rat-catcher. "Well? Will you try to stop us?"

"Ye've gotta repay me for the loss of me rats," he smiled cruelly. "That there pretty one'll do."

"You will not have her." Erik hissed, moving in front of Christine.

"Then, ye'll not leave." Erik realized quickly that this man was more cunning than he let on. It was going to take trickery to get them out of the fire swamp. _Perhaps appealing to his ego would be beneficial._

"You catch the rats, hmm? That must be difficult? How do you manage that?"

"I uses meat an' leads 'em into traps," the rat-catcher smiled smugly. "I's the best of 'em, I is."

"Lead them into traps, eh?" Erik smirked. "Then I think I know the perfect place you can lead them… into the trap of hell!" He lunged forward, skewering the rat-catcher through the stomach. Christine gasped in shock. Erik removed the blade and turned to her. Her beautiful face was pale, almost all the blood drained from her cheeks. "I'm sorry… did I scare you?"

"No!" Christine blurted. "I… it's just… you're different."

"We both are," he reminded her.

Christine was the first to catch a glimpse of the sea beyond the woods. "We did it," she whispered joyfully. Erik smiled, and brushed back her tangled curls from her forehead.

"Now, was that so terrible?" he asked. Christine let out a huff, but her smile betrayed her, she and began to lean into kiss him as a horse's whinny sounded. Erik pulled her into his chest, sheltering her, and drew his sword. Up close, he was even more disgusted with the sight of his rival. He'd always heard stories of how allegedly handsome Raoul was, and he was furious to see that they were all true.

"Free her. Surrender." The Prince ordered. Erik's eyes quickly took in the others, another nobleman, and two soldiers on horseback. Perhaps he could manage to take them, but how much damage would he be able to sustain? And what about Christine? Would mere bluffing be enough to get them out, and to safety?

" A passionate plea," Erik said sarcastically. "You mean you wish to surrender to me? Very well, I accept." Christine trembled against him. _I have to save her, at least. If the reports Meg gave me are true, I cannot allow her back in his hands, even at the cost of my own life._

"I give you full marks for bravery, monsieur. Don't make yourself a fool," Raoul warned.

"Ah, but how will you capture us? There are some who call me le Fantôme, and the trapdoor lover, one who is uncatchable. Not only that, but we know the secrets of the fire swamp. We can live there quite happily for some time, so whenever you feel like dying, feel free to visit." He felt Christine's head turn from side to side, but he kept his eyes locked on the prince.

"I tell you once again, surrender!"

"It will not happen," Erik hissed.

"For the last time, surrender!" Raoul dismounted, drawing his own sword.

"DEATH FIRST!" Erik roared.

"Will you promise not to hurt him?" Christine screamed, still clinging tightly to Erik.

"What was that?" Both of them looked at her in disbelief.

"Erik, please. I'm fine," she whispered, pulling away and turning to face Raoul. "Tell me truly, if we surrender and I return with you, will you promise not to hurt this man?"

"What is he to you?" Raoul asked, cupping her chin in his hands.

"Do _not_ touch her," Erik hissed with loathing. "You're not worthy to even lick her feet."

"Erik…" Christine touched his arm. "Do I have your word that you won't hurt him, Raoul? And another thing: he's a sailor on the pirate ship, _Revenge_. I want you to promise to return him to his ship! Swear it! Now!" She bent down and ripped off a section of her dress. "Or I die here."

"No!" Erik blurted. _What was she thinking_? She smiled sadly as if to say 'I am doing this for you.'

"Very well. I swear on the souls of both my parents, though my father still lives, may I live a thousand years and never hunt again, if any harm comes to this man by my hand, or he is not returned to where he belongs." Raoul nodded curtly, and turned back towards his charger. "Take a moment of farewell." Erik heard him whisper something to the other noble. "Once we're out of sight, take him back to France and throw him into the catacombs. I want a word with him. Several, actually." The nobleman nodded. _Traitor_… Christine gently stroked back his hair, smiling sadly.

"You don't have to do this," he told her. "Don't throw your life away for my sake."

"I'm not."

"You would rather live with your prince than die with your love?"

"I would rather that we both lived," she answered. "It's like you said before. Either way I choose, I cannot win. But... I thought you were dead once and it almost destroyed me. I could not bear it if you died again, not when I could save you." She reached into the bodice of her dress and pulled out a leather cord, at the end of which sat a simple wooden band… the one he'd given her five years ago for lack of a better engagement ring. She pulled it off her neck and pressed it his hands. "You have always been the only one I sing for, my angel, and when I sing, I give you my soul."

"Christine, no…" She turned away from him, but he saw the glint of tears on her cheeks as Raoul lifted her up in front of him onto the horse, and the two vanished from sight. "No…"

The second nobleman rode in front of him, blocking his view. "Come, monsieur. We must get you to your ship." Erik gave him a venom-filled smile.

"We are men of action. Lies do not become us."

"Well spoken, _Monsieur le Fantôme_." As two soldiers approached him from behind, Erik realized that there had been others hidden. Christine must have seen them. He glanced down to hide his smile and his eyes lighted upon the noble's right hand. "What is it?"

Erik looked up. "You have six fingers on your right hand. I met someone who was looking for you." Philippe de Chandon drew his sword and clubbed Erik on the head with the hilt. _Oh, it does hurt. If I ever meet Daroga again, I'll apologize._


	5. Meg

Meg scanned the horizon for the _Revenge_. Nothing, only the French Navy. Was it possible he'd failed? Meg hated uncertainty. Her entire life had been uncertain ever since her mother returned and she was positioned in the Palais. She fidgeted furiously, waiting for some signal. A black arrow spiraled up from the Thieves Quarter, and at the same moment, Raoul burst through the door, Christine draped over him, limp and sobbing. "What happened?" Meg gasped in alarm, pulling back the covers on the bed. Raoul laid Christine on the bed.

"He'll always be there, singing songs in my head . . ." Christine gasped out. "He'll always be there, singing songs in my head . . ."

"She's been like that since the journey home," Raoul said grimly. "Watch over her. Report to me if there is any change."

"Yes, of course. Now, I suggest you leave, so she has the chance to breathe, sir," Meg made a few 'shoo' gestures. Raoul nodded, and left. Meg locked the door behind him. "Sleep, Christine. I'll be back soon." She pulled out a fresh cloak from the wardrobe, and looked out the window._ No one. Good._ She yanked off the skirt concealing the breeches she usually wore, and vaulted out the window, landing nimbly on her feet. "Oh, how I long for the day when I can wear these without fear," she muttered, tucking her blond curls into a stolen hunting cap from one of the stable boys. Everything seemed so much simpler on the _Revenge_, mostly because of who she was. Still fuming about the unfairness of it all, she slipped out the servants' gate and headed for the _Profeta, _a tavern in Thieves Quarter. Several louts snickered as she passed them.

"Didn't your mother tell you to be careful in these parts, boy?" she heard one ask from behind her. Without responding, Meg brought up her left leg in an arabesque, and made contact with his privates. He was still screaming in pain as she slipped into the tavern.

"Can I help you?" Mlle. Sorelli, the barmaid asked.

"Is Gabriel here?" Meg demanded in a voice pitched a few tones lower than her normal voice.

"He might be." Meg rolled her eyes at that reply, and slapped down ten francs on the counter. "Back room."

"_Merci_," Meg murmured, slipping into the room. "I wish for the nightingale to fly the coop and sing with with the raven," she said to the hooded figure sitting at the table.

"And fly across the sea," the man said, pulling down his hood. "Is there any news?"

"The nightingale's back in the cage, and the raven's vanished into thin air. Any news for me?"

"The _Revenge _ is on the run from the Armada, without the raven."

"Anyone who might know something?"

"There's a giant asking about a Persian and talking about a man in black. They were part of the original crowd."

"Where can I find either of them?"

"Ask around."

_XxXxX_

Erik opened his eyes to find himself in… a cage. Bad memories flooded back into his mind, ones he'd spent years trying to banish with thoughts of Christine. Someone was dabbing at the wound on his shoulder. "Where… am… I…?" He turned his head to the side to see a rosy-faced man. Rosy, but an inebriated rosy, rather than a happy rosy.

"The catacombs… pit of despair… zoo of death… whatever you want to call it," the man shrugged, stopping his work to take a swig from a hip flask. "Doesn't matter, since there's no chance of escaping. The chains are far too thick, and the passages too numerous. And don't dream of being rescued either. Ways in are many, but secret. Only the Prince, the Count and I know 'em all."

"Then I'm here until I die?" Erik asked.

"Til they kill you, yeah. Not that that it should matter, but m'name's Joseph Buquet."

"Well, Buquet, if they're going to kill me, why bother curing me?"

"The count has always insisted on people being healthy before they're broken."

"So it's to be torture?" Erik surmised. Buquet nodded. "I can handle torture. They don't realize what real torture is." Buquet shook his head. "You don't believe me?"

"If you survived the Fire Swamp, I'll admit you're very brave, and very cunning. But there is no one who has withstood the Machine."

_XxXxX_

"Go back to the beginning," Gerard moaned. "Andre, you never said what to do if you died!"

"Sir?" A little boy stepped into the clearing, and pulled off his cap, revealing that 'he' was a 'she.' "Are you Gerard?" Gerard nodded. "My name's Meg."

"You've got a skinny leg."

"What?" Meg glanced down at her legs. "Do I? That's interesting to hear."

"Clear."

"Are you trying to make a joke?"

"Yolk."

"Stop!" Meg tried to clap a hand over his mouth, but he was too tall, especially for a tiny wisp of a girl like her. "You can rhyme when I'm done asking you questions. Were you one of the original team chosen to assassinate the Princess?"

"Yes."

"Who else was there?"

"Daroga. He needed the money to find the six-fingered man."

"Six-fingered man?" Meg repeated. "I see. Tell you what: I know where he is. If you find me when you've found your friend, I'll help you get to him. He's the Count Philippe de Chandon, and he lives in the Palais. And if you want to find your friend, I suggest you apply for a job. Coins have a way of making people remember things they would have otherwise forgotten."

_XxXxX_

"And though it's clear, though it was always clear, that this was never meant to be, if you happen to remember, stop and think of me…" Christine sang for what must have been the hundredth time. Meg was thoroughly annoyed by the redundancy, but it made the message clear: Erik was gone. "Think of all the things we've shared and seen… don't think about the way things might have been…" she burst into sobs and ran into her room. Meg was about to follow when she caught a glimpse of Raoul beckoning her towards him.

"Is there any change? She's been like that since the Fire Swamp."

"None… it… er… it must be your… er… father's failing health…" Meg said lamely. Raoul nodded sadly.

"It's worrying me, too."

The king died that very night. And before the following dawn, Christine and Raoul were married. And at noon, she met her subjects again, this time as their queen. As she stepped out among the people once again, amidst the shouts of joy, one person booed. Christine's eyes met those of the booer, an old woman she didn't know.

"Why do you do this?" Christine asked.

"Because you had love in your hands and you gave it up!"

"They would have killed Erik if I hadn't, there was no choice!"

"Your true love lives! And you marry another! Who saved you in the Fire Swamp? He did! Who stayed with you, helped you and advised you? He stayed with you, loved and idolized you. You betrayed him, shunned him and despised him! You chose Raoul, chose his beauty and youth! So bow to her if you like! Make it how she wants! Make it be about Christine! Christine! Always Christine!"

"Please! Nooooo!" Christine felt her heart explode, she was burning, she was choking, she was screaming. "No! Erik!" She snapped up, gasping for breath in horror. Meg rushed over to her.

"Are you alright?"

"Was it…"

"Christine, you must have been dreaming. I'd say it's pre-wedding worries. A little early, seeing as there's still ten days—"

"Then I'm not too late…" Christine sprang from bed. "My robe. Now!" Meg was fumbling for the wardrobe. "Oh, for God's sake, never mind! You're getting in the way!" Christine snatched up the robe herself, and flew down the hall, her eyes and hair wild. She didn't stop until she had burst into Raoul's study, at which point the surge of strength abandoned her, and she collapsed in his arms, bawling uncontrollably.

_XxXxX_

Raoul was completely shocked, but pleased by her actions. He did not have Philippe's experience with women, so he awkwardly pulled her closer and stroked her hair. "Hush, Christine. You can forget whatever's troubling you. I'm here. No one will find you—"

"That's the problem!" Christine interrupted, pushing him away. "It comes to this. In the Fire Swamp, I made the worst mistake of my life. I love Erik, I always have, and I know now that I always will. When you first asked me to be your wife, and warned me that refusal meant death, I asked you to kill me. Every word I said was true then, and this is, too: if you say that I must marry you in ten days, please, believe me, I will be dead by morning."

Raoul was taken aback by the sincerity of her declaration. Was that masked abomination really so important? How was _he_ preferable in any way? Hadn't Raoul been the one who saved her, given her everything a woman could possibly want? He shot Philippe a look of desperate appeal. _Trap her, set a rigged deal_, Philippe mouthed. Raoul quickly racked his brain and turned back to Christine. "If it upsets you, then, by all means, the wedding is off. Philippe, you returned what's-his-name to his ship, yes?"

"His name is Erik," Christine interrupted, a very stony look on her face.

"Yes, yes," Philippe waved his hand dismissively. Christine gave him an even greater venomous glare.

"Well, then we'll simply alert him," Raoul said. "But, Christine, cherie, are you certain he still wants you?" Christine's eyes widened in horror and Raoul realized he had to move quickly. "Not that there isn't a man alive who wouldn't... but you were the one that did the leaving in the Fire Swamp, not to mention that pirates are not usually men of their words."

"Erik was my love long before he was a pirate, and he promised that love will always return." Raoul fought the urge to vomit at her faraway, blissful, confidence.

"Ah. Well, then I suggest a deal: You write four copies of a letter. I'll send my four fastest ships, one in each direction. The Dread Pirate Robin is always close to France this time of year. We'll run up the white flag, and deliver your message. If what's-his-name-"

"ERIK!" Christine interrupted.

"Yes, if Erik wants you back, bless you both. If not-"

"If not?" she repeated suspiciously.

"Will you _please_ consider becoming my wife and the Queen of France as an alternative to suicide?" Christine turned away, murmuring something half-unintelligible.

"Twisted every way, what answer can I give...can I betray...do I have any choice... I know I can't refuse and yet, I wish I could...Oh, God..." she turned herself back to face him. "I will say this once: I would prefer the deal without the latter. However, I am in no position to find him without your help. So, we have an agreement."

_XxXxX_

"She's really quite a winning creature," Philippe remarked, following Raoul down the Rue Scribe. "I'm impressed by her...how would you describe it? Devotion? Stubbornness? Confidence?"

"It's indescribable, but everyone's quite taken with her...myself included. Is it really necessary to-"

"If we want to eliminate the problem of England, then yes," Philippe interrupted. "Perhaps it's better this way. It will be so much more moving when the assassination is discovered. Everyone, yourself included, will be truly heartbroken and outraged. They'll demand we go to war." Philippe turned his attention to the stone wall, shaking his head subtly. _That idiot!_ "Now, where is it... ah, here." He pressed the cut in the wall, and a door swung open. "Will you been joining me this evening? Erik has stopped reacting to the whipping and beatings. I'm starting him on the Machine tonight."

"As much as I would, I've got too much to do. The anniversary, the wedding, the...plans. I'm swamped." Philippe fought the urge to smile, and turned sympathetically back to Raoul.

"Get some rest. If you haven't got your health, you haven't got anything."

_XxXxX_

Meg had, in fact, been closer to Daroga than she'd thought. He'd been sitting dejectedly in the corner of the _Profeta_ for a week when she'd arrived, and was already 'back at the beginning,' back to being a slobbering drunk, with no hope. And that was torture to him. He had caught a glimpse of Meg's angelic baby face as she'd passed him, but he'd dismissed it as a trick of the wine. Respectable pretty girls never showed up in the Thieves' Quarter. Yet, somehow... she had looked almost like hope itself. Like there was still a chance for something good and just in the world. And like the man in black. Which had re-triggered the second part of his depression. He was beaten. He, the great Nadir Khan, Daroga of Mazanderan, had been bested, humiliated, destroyed. How could he face his father when he died?

_XxXxX_

"No... Javert... Madeleine, stop! You're wrong!" Erik yelled, snapping up from his own nightmare. The sneering faces of his former 'guardians' still flickered past his eyes. He had spent his entire life trying to banish those faces with Christine's, yet now they were fighting their way back into his life...how? Oh, yes... the beatings. The whips. They were triggering recall even more than simply being in the cage. He grimaced, and closed his eyes again, summoning up the last night he and Christine had spent together before he left.

_They were sitting on a hillside, overlooking a vast glassy lake that glimmered in the moonlight. Christine was pressing her head into his shoulder. "The stars are so bright tonight, Erik. I love these kinds of evenings. It makes the possibilities seem endless. Our possibilities... so far away..."_

_"But they are certain, angel. Stars are another thing that always return, every season."_

_"Should I be keeping a list of everything that always returns?" she joked. "Or would you prefer we do something else?"_

_"Something else?" Erik repeated, smiling._

_"Music, perhaps? Something to remember you by?"_

_"Only if you add your voice to mine, amour." She nodded, and started humming softly while he sang. "Night-time sharpens, heightens each sensation … Darkness stirs and wakes imagination … Silently the senses abandon their defenses ... Helpless to resist the notes I write... For I compose the music of the night..." He slowly pulled her up, guiding her into a slow dance. She began to sing timidly, and he nodded to encourage her._

_"Slowly, gently night unfurls its splendour … Grasp it, sense it - tremulous and tender … Turn your face away from the garish light of day, turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light - and listen-"_

"Are you quite done?" The memory shattered, and Erik was disgusted to see Philippe sneering at him. "I'd like to be able to start." Without waiting for a response, he revealed the most elaborate machine Erik had ever seen. "This is the Machine. It's been a labour of love for almost half my life." Erik let out a small snort at the thought. _He has no idea of what true love is_. "You may not have realized this, but I pride myself on being a connoisseur of several things: art, wine, beauty, power... and pain. I hope to one day publish an anthology on the subjects. Needless to say, Erik... do you mind if I call you Erik?"

"Yes."

"Ah, a half-civil response. So you're not quite as much of a beast as you look." Erik glared at him. "In any case, I was somewhat irked when you and Raoul snatched up the lovely Mademoiselle Daaé from under my nose. She's a perfect specimen of several of my interests. Raoul is not so much of a problem. Tell him something is for the good of France, and I can even convince him to order the murder of the woman he's become so infatuated with."

"It was you," Erik hissed.

"Of course. I'm of the philosophy that if I can't have something I want, no one can. Like I said, I adore power, and Raoul makes it so very easy. You, on the other hand, make things annoyingly difficult. It makes me quite glad I had an extra plan on hold in case Andre failed. But, because of you, Raoul's gotten tense, he doesn't trust me as much. If I'm to remain in control, I'm afraid it will not only be the bride who is brutally assassinated in the honeymoon suite, but the groom as well. Heartbreaking, no? If I must say so, I am a genius. I've even got someone to blame: You. The King of England's bastard son." _How did he-_ "The resemblance between you and Meg is ridiculous, really. But perfect for my plans. I'll be the new heir to France _and_ at war with England before the night is out."

"Repulsive," Erik's lip curled in disgust. "Perhaps you'd prefer a face more like mine? It would complement that twisted heart of yours."

"If that was meant to insult me, Erik, it was in very poor taste. That isn't the only secret I know. You're just as strong as you were before that tangle with the ROUS's in the Fire Swamp. You've been playing a farce with us this whole time. And you just gave it away to me now. You've been indulging in those ridiculous fantasies, screaming only for show. Not anymore, though. After I've given you a turn on this, you will not be able to ignore us."

"An egotist as well. There has never been a luckier country... if this ridiculous plan of yours works," Erik said sarcastically.

_XxXxX_

Meg stifled a scream of horror. "I hate rats..." she moaned. She should not have been complaining. If Erik was still here, he would be in the catacombs, and finding an entrance was rare. She flattened herself against the wall at the sound of a man's footsteps, but it didn't help. Joseph Buquet was leering at her, pinning her to the wall.

"Seems I've caught a little blonde mouse. Don't you know it's dangerous down here?"

"I just lost my way," Meg lied. "But I can take care of myself."

"Then take care elsewhere. Don't let any of this slip. And don't let me catch you here again."

"You won't," Meg muttered, carving an M into the stone behind her.

_XxXxX _

"Ridiculous, eh? Genius is often mistaken for insanity," Philippe said smugly, attaching one of the Machine's tubes to the harness on Erik's chest.

"Because genius often turns to madness," Erik retorted. The remark caught Philippe off guard, and the Count finished his work in silence. _I won that battle_, Erik thought. But it was an inconsequential victory if he couldn't escape. If anything, it would only make Philippe kill him more quickly. Philippe kept talking, but Erik didn't pay attention. He was back with Christine, not on the hill, but somewhere else. She was gently stroking his hair, and kissing him tenderly, whispering, "I love you, I love you eternally. I only left you to test your love for me. Is it as great as my own, my angel? Can there be two loves so great on this earth at the same time, Erik, my love?" Then, the vision dissolved into hideous pain, pain that made hell seem like a calm spring day. Erik set his jaw, refusing to give Philippe the satisfaction of hearing his screams. Finally, it all stopped, and Erik winced.

"Finally got your attention, hmmm?" Philippe sneered. "And that was only the lowest setting. I'm sure someone of your intellect is aware that the concept of the suction pump is centuries old. This is basically the same concept, except that, instead of sucking water, I'm sucking life. I've just sucked one year of your life away. I may one day go as high as five. Can you imagne that? Pain five times as excruciating... delicious... But for now, let's work with what we have. And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest. How do you feel?" He leaned over intently. Erik looked up at him and spat in his face. Philippe moved his hand towards the machine and Erik let an involuntary whimper escape his lips. Philippe smiled cruelly. "Interesting."

_XxXxX_

A/N: Meg may seem a little OOC, but it's better than in LND, right? Why shouldn't Meg be kick-ass? If you're at all confused by her role, I'll explain: Meg is (duh) currently spying for Erik, disguised as a lady in the palace. She sneaks out disguised as a boy, and as we will soon see, is completely capable of wielding a weapon. And regarding Raoul… well, I think he's just too much of a pansy to plot murder. So, Philippe becomes an evil mastermind. Hey, I needed SOMEONE! Review, or thou shalt be Punjabbed.

The button is right there.

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	6. What Did I Say?

_A/N: Sandal Walker, I want to apologize for making Christine seem swoony and idiotic, but you're right. She's always been that way. It takes me back to the multiple faints I had Charlotte do while playing Christine in **Love Without Sight**...or Christine fainting in **Once You've Been Possessed**… it's like her default for everything: 'Swoon and let the guys take over.' I'll try to steer her away from that in the future._

_Obviously, there was a little weirdness at the idea of making Mme. Giry the booer, but all I said was that Christine didn't know her… and Christine doesn't know Mme. Giry, Erik only mentioned her. So, if you want to think of the booer as Mme. Giry, go right ahead._

_On another note, I'm contemplating making this a Meg/Daroga thing, too. Let me know if you approve. Onto chapter 7. In which Meg, Gerard, and Daroga somehow realize the truth of their i__n which the character of Yellin becomes the stuttering M. Reyer of the 2004 movie. _ Look, I'm running out of people, okay?

_XxXxX_

Raoul sat at his desk, scowling into the glowing fire, fueled with the last of Christine's letters. He had already burnt three, but he could still remember the words perfectly.

_My dearest Erik:_

_ Forgive me, I beg you, if you can find it in your heart to do so. Please, come back. I need you with me, now and always. I want you with me, here, beside me. I love you, I truly do. When I first heard you sing, I thought I knew what it meant to feel love. I was wrong, my angel, so very wrong. Love is understanding when you cannot live without someone, wanting to die with them. I said I could not bear it if you died again. You truly loved me in the Fire Swamp, you were ready to die with me. I was selfish enough to place my life above your own. I would gladly die for you now. I don't believe it possible that you could be damned, but if we both were, I think it would be just as good as being in heaven._

_ I remain,_

_ Yours, and yours eternally,_

_ Christine_

Raoul's grip tightened on the arm of his chair. It had been only two days, and all she ever talked about was Erik. _Erik this, Erik that, Erik from sunup to sundown. _Why couldn't she say one thing about how he, Raoul, was superior? Thinking of his adversary languishing in the catacombs made him feel slightly better.

"Ahem?" A timid voice sounded from the door. Raoul rolled his eyes. Reyer might have been a nervous wreck, but he was a perfectionist at getting Raoul's requests done.

"Ah. Reyer."

"S-s-s-sire?" Reyer asked, hurrying over to Raoul's side. Raoul turned to face his nerve-stricken aide.

"As chief enforcer of all France, I trust you with this secret: killers from England are infiltrating the Thieves' Quarter and plan to murder my bride on our wedding night."

"M-m-m-my sp-sp-spy n-n-n-network h-h-h-has h-h-h-heard n-n-n-no s-s-s-such n-n-n-news," Reyer blurted uncomfortably.

"Raoul? Any word from Erik?" Christine interrupted, appearing in the door, and Meg right behind her. Raoul fought yet another urge to vomit.

"Too soon, my angel."

"But there's only eight days left…"

"Plenty of time, Christine. Patience."

"He _will_ come for me."

"Of course," Raoul said. "Run along now."

_XxXxX_

Christine pretended to walk all the way out the door, then stopped Meg. "I want you to stay and see what he's talking about, Meg. Something about this worries me."

"Why not do it yourself?" Meg asked curiously.

"I've got to get everything ready for when Erik comes. Besides, you're a little less… noticeable than I am," Christine blushed, twisting a gleaming chocolate curl around her finger. "I don't mean to offend you by saying that."

"No offense was taken," Meg said bluntly. "But you'll have to owe me."

"Anything!"

"Monsieur le comte is coming up behind you. If you ask him to escort you back, and leave me alone, I'll gladly eavesdrop on the Prince."

Christine giggled. "Meg! You and Philippe?"

"_Mais non_! I cannot stand him!" Meg turned bright red. "He's always making comments about my body, and how my innocent little face soon won't match who I am. Can you imagine?" Christine nodded. "As I said, I cannot stand him."

"Don't tell me I have a rival for your affections, my dear Meg," Philippe's oily voice interrupted, sliding up behind the two young women.

"Meg was referring to a cousin of hers," Christine lied. "The Prince required her to remain, once he's done speaking to Monsieur Reyer, but I didn't want to return to my rooms without company. Would you be willing to escort me?"

Philippe bowed and took her hand. "My pleasure, Princess." They started down the corridor, and Christine caught a glimpse of Meg's grateful smile. "I'm sure this young man of yours will come soon."

"I'm glad there's someone else who shares my confidence," Christine said timidly. Meg was right about one thing, Philippe was far too lecherous a man for any decent woman's taste. He oozed false charm and insincere smiles, two things that disgusted her thoroughly.

"You seem to think the world of him," Philippe continued. "Is he really so exceptional?"

"Of course," Christine replied. "I see no reason why I shouldn't think the world of him. He's kind, brave, intelligent…" she trailed off, a blush spreading over her cheeks. "I must seem biased to you."

"Slightly. Among his qualities, would you say he has pride?"

"More than any man alive, I think. He was sometimes too proud to let me fuss over him when his shirt had holes, or I thought he'd not eaten enough," she smiled fondly at the memory, "though he might have been lying so that I'd stay a while longer than I'd planned."

"Too proud for tears, do you suppose?" Philippe asked abruptly. Christine stared at him in confusion, then shook her head.

"I don't think Erik would ever cry… except at the death of someone he loved very much. Thank you for your company, Monsieur. I think I'd prefer privacy at the moment," she slipped into her room, and locked the door.

_XxXxX_

Meg leaned against the door, listening intently to Raoul's conversation. "She will not be murdered. On the day of the wedding, I want the Thieves' Quarter emptied, and every inhabitant arrested."

"M-m-m-many of th-th-th-the th-th-th-thieves w-w-will r-r-r-resist. M-m-m-my r-r-r-regular e-e-e-enforcers w-w-w-will be i-i-i-inadequate," Reyer stammered.

"FORM A BRUTE SQUAD, then, but GET IT DONE!" Raoul yelled. "I want the Thieves' Forest emptied before I wed!"

"I-i-i-it w-w-w-won't b-b-b-be e-e-e-easy, s-s-s-sire."

"Try ruling the world sometime," Raoul said smugly. _What an imbecile_, Meg thought in disgust. There was no other sound, and she hurried away, before either man could catch her listening in.

When she reached Christine's room, the beautiful girl was smiling peacefully, running a brush through her curls at the window. Meg sat at the desk and scribbled a note to Gabriel.

_The Bloodhound plans to snap the Nightingale's neck on the nuptial night, and frame the chalkies. He will be clearing out the residence of the prophet, so take your leave quickly. The Raven has not been seen yet, but the Wolf's tunnels have been found. Attempting to explore them, may need a few Fledglings. RSVP._

_ The Lioness' Cub_

"Writing to an admirer?" Christine teased.

"A friend of my mother's," Meg corrected. "He lives near the Thieves' Quarter, I don't want him getting arrested. The Prince has become paranoid since those English dogs tried to kill you. He's going to have every inhabitant of the Thieves' Quarter imprisoned."

"That's… thorough…" Christine remarked, raising an eyebrow. Meg shrugged.

"I think it's ridiculous. If the English really wanted to kill you, don't you think they'd wait a while before attack again? To allow time for your guard to be let down?"

Christine laughed awkwardly. "You seem to know an awful lot of things about war, Meg."

"Be grateful you have the protection of the Prince. It shields you from court intrigues, but I've been involved in several, and your opponent always strikes when you least expect it. It hurts the most that way."

"You? Petite Mademoiselle Innocent?"

"Yes, me. Now, stop teasing me. You still look terrible after that ordeal. Go to bed."

_XxXxX_

The day of the wedding arrived. The brute squad had their hands full carrying out Raoul's orders. Not even Mlle. Sorelli was spared, though she damaged several Brutes' _terra incognita_ before she was subdued. Though they didn't realize it, the Brutes did not capture any spies, for all the agents of the Dread Pirate Robin had fled at the receiving of Meg's letter. Contrary to Raoul's belief, Reyer only stammered in the presence of his employer, and was completely calm and coherent as his assistant reported.

"Is everybody out?"

"Almost," Mifroid replied. "There's a Persian giving us some trouble at the _Profeta_."

"Well, you give him some trouble."

_XxXxX_

"I am waiting for you, Andre. You told me to go back to the beginning. So I have. This is where I am, and this is where I will stay. I will not be moved. I am getting impatient, Andre, and I am very passionate, very passionate. And you are nothing but a tardy Sicilian!" Daroga slurred, nursing his bottle of brandy.

"Ho there!"

"I do not budge. Keep your 'ho there.'" Daroga scoffed.

"But the Prince gave orders."

Daroga lunged forward, getting in a few swipes with his blade. The brute stumbled back, and Daroga went back to monologuing. "_Andre_ gave orders. When the job went wrong, he went back to the beginning. Well, this is where we got the job, so it's the beginning. And I am staying till Andre comes. I am waiting for Andre." He felt himself get hoisted up, and a low, soft voice said something he wasn't expecting.

"You surely want your _madre_." Daroga looked up, but his vision was blurred by the alcohol. A large hand appeared in front of his own, and he squinted at it. "Hello." Only one man had hands that big.

"It's… you…"

"True," Gerard Carriere smiled down at him, before clubbing Mifroid on the head. "You don't look so good."

"Phbphbphbphbphbphbphbphbt!" Daroga huffed.

"You don't smell so good either," Gerard said, fanning away the smell of brandy.

"Perhaps no. I feel fine."

"Yeah?" Gerard let go of his collar, and Daroga collapsed.

_XxXxX_

And so, Gerard and Daroga were reunited. As Gerard nursed his inebriated friend back to health, he told Daroga of Andre's death and the existence of Count Philippe, the six-fingered man. Considering Daroga's lifelong search, he handled the news surprisingly well: He fainted. The door of Gerard's hut swung open, and Meg stood in the door.

"You took my advice?" she asked, smiling widely. Gerard nodded. Meg glanced down at the unconscious Persian. "Give me that bucket." Gerard did as he was told, and Meg dumped the ice cold water all over Daroga. The Persian sputtered back to reality.

"Who did that?"

"I did." Meg bent down to look at him. "My God, you really are a mess." Daroga pulled off his soaked Astrakhan cap, and shook out his messy black hair, splattering both his companions with water.

"That's enough… just tell me: where is this Philippe de Chandon now, so I may kill him?"

"He's with the prince, in the castle. But the castle gate is guarded by thirty men," Gerard said glumly.

"And the only other ways in are too confusing. I've been trying all week to learn the passages of the catacombs, but it's impossible," Meg added. Daroga kicked the fallen bucket aside in frustration.

"Gerard, how many could you handle?"

"I don't think more than ten."

Daroga counted on his fingers, ignoring a huff of exasperation from the little blonde girl. "Leaving twenty for me. At my best, I could never defeat that many…"

"Oh, don't mind me," Meg muttered. "By all means, think I'm useless just because I'm female."

Daroga kept ignoring her. "I need Andre to plan. I have no gift for strategy."

"But Andre's dead."

"No, not Andre. I need the man in black…." Daroga murmured. A wide grin started to split Meg's face. Gerard only looked confused. "_Vekh_, he bested you with strength, your greatness. He bested me with steel. He must have out-thought Andre. And a man who can do that can plan my castle onslaught any day. Let's go."

"But we don't know where he is!" Gerard protested.

"I think I do!" Meg said eagerly.

"See? Mere trifles! After twenty years, at last, my father's soul will be at peace. There will be blood tonight!" Daroga was grinning, almost wickedly.

_XxXxX_

Raoul examined the edge of the dagger he was sharpening. Reyer stumbled into the office, kneeling hurriedly. Raoul felt irritated at the sight of the high-strung little man. If anyone did, _he_ had a reason to be nervous… he'd never killed a human before, much less a woman. "Rise and report," he ordered stiffly.

"The Thieves' Quarter is emptied. Thirty men guard the castle gate."

"Double it. Make certain the doors are barred, the men are there, and make certain they're armed. The Princess must be safe."

"The gate has but one key, and I carry that."

_XxXxX_

_ Fool! Idiot!_ Christine was tempted to strike herself for being so naïve. _Where is Meg when I need her?_ She strode into the study, firmly resolved get the truth. Raoul smiled widely at her.

"Look at her, Reyer. Magnificent. Has any other man in history been as fortunate as I?" Reyer shrugged.

"Might I have a word in private with you?" Christine asked.

"In a moment, my sweet," Raoul turned back to Reyer. "Tonight, we marry. Tomorrow morning your men will escort us to the channel, where every ship in my armada waits to accompany us on our honeymoon."

"Every ship but four," Christine interrupted. Raoul blinked at her in confusion, then nodded. If she needed any confirmation, that blink was it.

"Yes, of course, I almost forgot, every ship but four… you're excused now, Reyer." The aide bowed, and walked out quickly.

"I used to be fond of masks," Christine said. "I felt they had a certain allure and mystery. I should have realized that everyone wears masks, you included. Erik once called himself a man in a monster's body, and I think you are the reverse of that: a monster within a man. You smile at me and call me pet names, but you never really wanted to help me. You never sent the ships, don't bother lying to me anymore!" She took a breath. "It doesn't matter. Erik _will_ still come for me. He'll take me, I know, and I'll never have to see you again!"

"You're being silly and nervous, _cherie_, go to your room," Raoul said casually.

"Very well, I'll go to my room. But not before I say this: You are nothing but a coward with a heart full of fear!" Christine declared passionately. Raoul's hands slipped on the dagger he was holding. A few drops of blood dropped onto the desk.

"I would not say such things if I were you," he said, his voice deadly and quiet.

"Why not?" Christine asked defiantly. "You can't hurt me. Erik and I are joined by the bonds of love. And you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds. And you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords. And when I say you are a coward, that is only because you are the slimiest weakling ever to crawl the earth!" And she slapped him across the face.

"I would not say such things if I were you!" Raoul roared. He was seizing her arms and ripping at her thick chocolate hair, and flung her into her room with such force that he knocked her into a vase, which smashed on the ground. She hurried back to the door, but he had already locked it.

"LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT, YOU COWARD! THIS WON'T STOP ERIK! HE IS COMING FOR ME, AND HE'LL MAKE YOU PAY! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!" She screamed everything and nothing, as if the passages between her mouth and her brain had been sealed off. "YOU WILL BURN IN HELL, RAOUL! AND ERIK AND I WILL LOOK DOWN FROM HEAVEN AT YOUR TORTURE, AND WE WILL _LAUGH_! DO YOU HEAR ME? WE WILL LAUGH!"

_XxXxX_

Erik's heart had become a secret garden, and the walls were very high. His mind and body had been broken beyond repair, but he was still trying to calculate how much time he had left. _The average life expectancy for a Frenchman is about sixty-five years. Philippe's taken twenty with his 'experiments,' which means…_ He didn't get to finish that thought because Philippe started talking.

"Raoul! For God's sake, man, why didn't you use the usual entrance? What…"

"Out of my way, Philippe! I refuse to let this menace remain! But he does deserve to know." Raoul interrupted, coming into Erik's line of vision. The look in his green eyes was positively murderous and insane. "It's impossible. I swear, it's impossible, but you truly love each other, and so you might have been truly happy! Not one couple in a century has that chance, no matter what the storybooks say! So I think no man in a century will suffer as greatly as you will." He vanished again, and Philippe started shouting.

"WAIT, NO! NOT TO TWENTY!" Too late. Hell seized Erik in its teeth, and the scream of a dying man escaped his lips.

The sound was almost indescribable, a wave of pure sound, and a single word repeated a thousand times in one note: Christine. Yet no one heard it but Erik, and though he suffered, he felt joy at the same time. For Raoul had given him the greatest weapon possible. He had told Erik that Christine still loved him.

_ Meg heard it first. "He's here," she whispered in amazement. "The Phantom…"_

_ In the Palais, Christine heard it too. "It's him," she gasped in delight. "I know it! It's him!"_

Daroga looked at his blonde companion. "Do you know that sound?" Meg nodded. Gerard looked between the two of them in confusion. "That is the sound of ultimate suffering. My heart made that sound when de Chandon slaughtered my father. The man in black makes it now."

"The man in black?" Gerard repeated.

"His true love is marrying another tonight, so who else has the cause for ultimate suffering?" Meg demanded, trying to push through the crowd. "Ugh! Excuse me. Pardon me, it's important. Gerard, please…."

"Everybody MOVE!" Gerard shouted. The crowd parted in shock, and Meg gracefully shot forward, the two men behind her, towards the Rue Scribe.

"Thank you! Now, hurry, you two!" Meg called.

"Meg, behind you!" Daroga interrupted, catching a tubby drunk who had abandoned a wheelbarrow with his sword. "Where is the man in black?"

"I… I know no man in b-black," the man sputtered.

"Whose throat did that sound come from?" Meg demanded, pulling out a dagger from her pants. "Answer me!"

"E-Erik…"

"My brother?" Nod.

"A sailor? Brought here by de Chandon?" Nod. "How can we get there?" Silence. Daroga sighed. "Gerard, jog his memory." Gerard clubbed the man on the head. He fell forward, unconscious.

"I'm sorry, Daroga. I didn't mean to jog him so hard."

"Daroga? Nadir?" Meg asked, looking at him incredulously. Daroga had knelt to the ground, and drawn his sword.

"Father, I have failed you for twenty years. Now our misery can end. Somewhere, somewhere close by is a man who can help us. I cannot find him alone. I need you. I need you to guide my sword. Please, guide my sword." He closed his eyes, rising as thought the sword were pulling him. He stumbled for a few moments, then stopped as the blade touched a nick in the wall. Daroga stared at it for a moment before collapsing into the wall.

"Er…" Meg and Gerard exchanged a glance of bewilderment. Then a door in the wall slowly opened.

"That was convenient…" Gerard mumbled.

"That was fate," Nadir corrected.

"Somehow, I feel that was a twisted being manipulating our circumstances so that it can indulge in combining two things it adores in some way that defies what was originally written as our fate," Meg mused. Both of the men looked at her in awe. "What? What did I say?"


	7. Tonight

Meg sunk her fingernails into Nadir's arm. "Do you mind?" he demanded, prying her off him.

"There are rats down here," she whispered fearfully. "I hate rats!"

"Unbelievable," Nadir muttered. "She says she can handle herself, but she runs crying to me at the thought of rodents!" Meg whipped out her dagger. "Oh, very well, you _can_ handle yourself."

"Glad to hear you say that. Now, chop-chop! We have a masked genius in black to—"

"I think I found the man in black, but he's not in black, anymore." Gerard announced. Meg rushed towards him desperately. Gerard hadn't been lying. Erik's usual attire had been replaced by a loose white shirt, tight brown pants, and a new pair of leather boots. His mask lay on a nearby table. "I was only joking about the scars when I asked him…"  
"Erik!" Meg shook his shoulder. "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Meg…" Gerard touched her shoulder gently. "He's dead."

"That just is not fair," Nadir muttered. "Well, the men of my family have never taken defeat easily. Come along, Meg. Gerard, bring the body."

"The body?"

"Have you any money?" Nadir asked. "Meg, what about you?"

"A little," Gerard nodded.

"Some. I picked Philippe's pockets a few nights ago," Meg sassily tossed a leather purse between her hands.

"I just hope it's enough to buy a miracle, that's all."

_XxXxX_

Meg banged on the door, since she'd won the coin flip to not carry the body.

"Go away!" A woman shrieked in a high piercing soprano. "Ubaldo, _caro_, make them a-leave!" Meg kept banging. A little panel in the door swung open.

"What? What?" The portly little Italian wrinkled his nose at the motley-looking set.

"Please, are you the Signor Piangi who worked for the king all those years?" Nadir asked.

"The king's a-stinking son fired-a me. And thank you so a-much for bringing up such-a the painful subject. While you're at it, why don't you-a give me the nice a-paper cut and pour-a the lemon juice on it? We're closed-a!" He slammed the panel shut. Meg started banging again. "Beat it, or I'll call-a the brute squad!"

"I'm on the brute squad." Gerard said.

"You are-a the brute squad." Piangi retorted.

"We need a miracle. It's very important!" Meg whined.

"Look, I'm-a retired. And besides, why would you want-a someone the king's-a stinking son fired? I might-a kill whoever you wanted me to-a miracle."

"He's already dead," Nadir said, jabbing a finger at the limp masked frame.

"Oh, he is, huh? I'll take-a the look. Bring him in." The door swung open, and the three slipped inside. Gerard gently positioned Erik on the table, and Piangi pulled up one of Erik's arms, then dropped it. "I've a-seen worse." He started prodding Erik's chest.

"Sir...sir? We're in a terrible rush," Nadir urged.

Piangi brushed aside his hand. "Don't a-rush me, sonny. You rush-a the miracle man, you get-a the rotten miracles. You got-a the money?"

"Sixty-five."

"Sheesh! I never a-worked for so little. Except once, and that was-a the very noble cause."

"This is noble!" Meg blurted. Piangi raised an eyebrow, and Nadir took over with a sob story.

"His wife is... crippled. The children are on the brink of starvation…."

"Are you-a the rotten liar!" Piangi scoffed. Meg glared and mouthed _you should have let me do the talking_.

"I need him to help avenge my father, murdered these twenty years."

"Your first a-story was-a the better," Piangi said, turning to the fire. "Where's a-that a-bellows crammed? He probably owes-a you money, huh? Well, I'll ask him."

"He's dead. He can't talk."

"Hoo hoo hoo! Look who knows so much, heh? Well, it just so happens that your friend here is-a only-a mostly dead. There's-a the big difference between-a the mostly dead and-a the all dead. Please, open his mouth." Meg pursed her brother's lips and Piangi stuck the hose in his mouth and started pumping. "Now, the mostly dead is-a the slightly alive. Now, the all dead...well, with-a the all dead, there's a-usually only one thing you can do."

"What's that?" Gerard asked.

"Go through his-a clothes and look for-a the loose change." Piangi put down the bellows, and leaned over Erik. "Hey! Hello in there! Hey! What's-a so important? What you got here that's worth-a the living for?" He pushed down on Erik's chest and a soft moan escaped the mostly dead man's lips:

"_True… love…_"

"'True Love,' you heard him? You could not ask for a more noble cause than that!" Meg cried eagerly.

"_Cara_, true love is-a the greatest thing in the world...except maybe my Carlotta's chocolates, the kind a-filled with-a the creamy nougat, and almonds, and the chocolate is-a nice and smooth…" Piangi smacked his lips. "_Amo quello. _But that's a-not what he said-he distinctly said "To blave" and as we all know, to blave means-a to bluff, heh? So you were probably playing a-cards, and he cheated-"

"LIAR! LIAR! LIAR!" A swarthy, buxom woman with obviously fake jewels all over her rushed in, clutching at a little white poodle.

"Puffy haired rat…" Meg whimpered at the sight of the dog. Nadir smirked. The woman advanced on her little husband in a fury.

"Don't-a even think about a-calling me a witch! I'm-a not a witch, I'm-a your wife, but after what you just said, I'm-a not even sure I want-a to be that anymore!"

"You-a never had it so good, _cara_," Piangi mumbled, cowering in fear.

"True Love, 'e said 'True Love,' Ubaldo! I 'eard it!"

"Not another word, Carlotta…" Piangi tried to push her back, but she turned towards their guests.

" 'E's afraid. Ever since-a Prince Raoul fired 'im, 'is confidence is shattered."

"Why'd you a-say that name? You promised me that you would never a-say that name!" Piangi wailed.

"What, Raoul?" Carlotta asked innocently, as her husband winced. She started sing the name over and over in a grating cadenza. "Raoul! Raoul! Raoul! Raoul! Raoul! Raoul! Raoul! Raoul! Raoul! Raoul!"

"Lalalalala, those who tangle with Don Juan! I'm not-a listening!"

"True love lies expiring, and a-you don't 'ave-a the decency to say why you won't 'elp!"

"Nobody's 'earing nothing!"

"Raoul! Raoul! Raoul!"

**_"THIS IS CHRISTINE DAAÉ'S TRUE LOVE! IF YOU CAN SAVE HIM, HE WILL STOP RAOUL'S WEDDING!"_** Meg screamed. Both Italians whirled to face her.

"I make 'im better, and-a Raoul suffers?" Piangi repeated.

"Humiliations galore," Nadir said, giving Meg a grateful glance. She smiled sweetly, as if she were glad they hadn't clashed. Piangi spun Carlotta around, and kissed her.

"_That _is-a the noble cause. Gimme the sixty-five. I'm a-on the job."

_XxXxX_

"_That's_ a miracle pill?" Meg asked, examining it.

"What-a were you expecting? Glowing gold?" Carlotta asked. "The chocolate coating a-helps it go down a-easier. But, you have to-a wait a-fifteen minutes for-a the full potency, and he shouldn't-a go in swimming after for at least…"

"An hour, the good hour," Piangi added, pushing them out the door.

"Andiamo. Tutti. Bye-bye. Bye-bye. See you later, because you should going now. It is finished. See you later! Have-a the fun storming the castle!" The Italian couple waved at the receding procession.

"Think it'll work?" Carlotta asked her husband.

"It'll take-a the miracle."

_XxXxX_

Meg collapsed on the parapet. "We're lucky he decided to be in Cherbourg for the wedding. It gets us to the _Revenge _ faster when we can escape." Gerard glanced over the wall, and then looked down at his three companions. "What's wrong?"

"There's more than thirty," Gerard said glumly.

"What's the difference? We've got him." Nadir pulled Erik's up by a chunk of his tangled black hair. "Give me the pill."

"Has it been fifteen minutes?" Gerard asked in confusion. Meg racked her brain to remember, but Nadir cut her off.

"We can't wait. The wedding's in half an hour. We must strike in the hustle and the bustle beforehand. Tilt his head back. Open his mouth."

"Careful!" Meg said, gently readjusting Gerard's grip on Erik's face. "It hurts when he gets his scars touched." Gerard nodded, and Nadir pushed the pill down Erik's mouth. "How long do we have to wait, before we know if the miracle works?"

Nadir shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine." Erik's eye flickered open, wild and furious.

"I'll beat you two apart! I'll take you both together!" He started shouting. Gerard clapped a hand over his mouth cautiously.

"I guess not very long." He pulled his hand back as Erik sunk his teeth into the side. "Ow…" Meg rummaged through the pouch at her hip for a salve and started it rubbing over the bite marks. Erik's torso wriggled feebly, and he glared at Nadir.

"Why won't my arms move?"

"You've been mostly dead all day," Gerard said.

"We had Signor Piangi make a pill to bring you back," Nadir explained. Erik's eyes darted around rapidly before he spoke again.

_XxXxX_

"Who are you? Are we enemies? Why am I on this wall?" Erik's head was throbbing like a roll of thunder. How had he gotten here when the last thing he remembered was Raoul, Philippe and something about twenty. He caught a glimpse of blonde curls, and an innocent, familiar face. _Meg_. "Where's Christine?"

"Let me explain," the vaguely familiar Persian man started to say, but Meg cut him off.

"No, there is too much. Let me sum it up. Christine is marrying Raoul in a little less than half an hour, so all we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the princess, make our escape, after Nadir kills Count Philippe, and I have my way with the Prince."

"Meg, we've been through this before…" Erik sighed.

"Just a little?"

"No." Erik said firmly. "That doesn't leave much time for dilly-dallying." He moved his fingers in an attempt to drum them, one of his habits while thinking.

"You just wiggled your finger! That's wonderful!" Gerard cried in delight.

"I've always been a quick healer. What are our liabilities?"

"The only ways in are the catacombs, too confusing, and the one working castle gate. And it is guarded by…" Gerard raised Erik to see, as Nadir kept talking. "Sixty men."

"And our assets?"

"Your brains, Gerard's strength, Meg's knowledge of the Palais, and my steel."

"I can handle a knife, too, Erik. You know that, right?" Meg added.

"But that's it?" Erik demanded. The trio nodded. "Impossible. If I had a month to plan, maybe I could come up with something, but this…" he shook his head despondently.

"You just shook your head! That doesn't make you happy?" Gerard asked, still being cheerful. Erik forced his neck to turn to face the giant.

"My brains, Meg's knowledge, your strength, and his steel against sixty men, and you think a little head jiggle is supposed to make me happy? Hmmmm? No! Now she's going to marry Raoul, and I'm _helpless _to stop it! Why the hell didn't you just leave me dead? Better than me lying here while the woman I love marries the man who killed me!" Erik started to cry. "I've failed her… There's no way I can return for her with only what you've listed! I mean, if we only had a wheelbarrow, that would be something!"

Meg's blue eyes, identical to his own, flickered to the Persian's dark ones. "Nadir, where did we put that wheelbarrow that Joseph Buquet had?"

"Over him, I think," Nadir said, slowly beginning to smile.

"Why didn't you list that among our assets in the first place?" Erik scowled fondly at his sister. "What I wouldn't give for my old holocaust cloak…"

"There we cannot help you." Nadir said sadly.

Gerard reached down his shirt and pulled out a large holocaust cloak. "Would this do?"

"I got it at Signor Piangi's. It fit so nice, he said I could keep it."

"All right, all right. Come on, help me up. Now I'll need a sword eventually, and my mask." Erik muttered.

"I understand about the mask, but we can't do that until we get back onto the _Revenge_. But as for the sword, why? You can't even lift one." Meg demanded as Gerard and Nadir did as they'd been told.

"True, but that's hardly common knowledge, is it?" Erik's head dropped down and Gerard pulled it back up. "Thank you. Now, there may be problems once we're inside."

"I'll say. Namely, how do I find the Count? Once I do, how do I find you again? Once I find you again, how do I escape?" Nadir started listing his worries.

"Daroga, don't pester him. He's had a hard day."

"Oh, it's you, Daroga. I think I owe you an apology for that knock on the head."

"Help me get my revenge, and the apology is accepted." Nadir replied nonchalantly as they started along the parapet.

"Daroga?" Gerard whispered timidly.

"What?"

"I hope we win."

_XxXxX_

Christine scowled, examining the veil in her hands. _He's late…._ "Not excited, my angel?" She turned to glare at Raoul.

"Should I be?"

"Brides often are, I'm told," he replied smugly.

"Brides, maybe, but I do not marry tonight," she replied coolly. "Erik will save me. And then, I will never have to look on your disgusting face ever again. So, why are you insisting on this façade?"

"Tradition calls for it."

"To hell with tradition," she muttered, striding out the door into the main hall.

_XxXxX_

Meg narrowed her eyes, trying desperately to get the right angle. The music was making her head throb but she finally saw the rope she needed to cut. "Go!" She screamed, throwing the knife.

_XxXxX_

Everyone in the hall turned towards the window, but Christine pulled away from Raoul as the knife that flown through severed the cord holding up the main chandelier. "He's here, _le Fantôme_!" The ghostly woman's voice screamed. "Beware, _le Fantôme_!" Christine felt her soul lift and released a pure high note of delight.

_XxXxX_

"I'm coming, my sweet…" Erik whispered as her voice pierced the air. "Are we ready, gentlemen?" His two companion nodded. _Seal my fate tonight. I hate to have to cut the fun short, but this joke's wearing thin, let the audience in, let this opera begin!_

_

* * *

A/N: Please remember, Meg was raised in England, so 'chop-chop' is not OOC for her in this situation...though I think I've turned her into the kick-ass maid from the Dario Argento version..._


	8. What Happens Next?

A/N: Semi-spoiler alert right now: Raoul will be getting _The Phantom of Manhattan _treatment in this chapter. Every E/C PhanGirl's dream. Meg is so very lucky. At this point, I've decided that I wanted to base the remainder of the story on Goldman's original novel, _Buttercup's Baby, _and then work on my own ideas. Erik and Nadir's little exchange about what Nadir's going to do with the rest of his life was written by Sandal Walker.

_XxXxX_

Meg skirted along the edge of the wall, and dropped down to meet her friends. "It set them into a panic, just like you said. They were headed for the chapel. Now's the time to get going?" Erik nodded.

"Get in, try to rig it up like we planned, then come looking for us."

"But…"

"Meg, time is not on our side, just go!"

_XxXxX_

_Hurry, please_….Christine thought as Archbishop Valerius started rambling. "Mawwage. Mawwage is what bwings us togethew today. Mawwage, that bwessed awwangement, that dweam within a dweam." _Nightmare would be more appropriate._

"Stand your ground!" Someone outside was shouting.

_XxXxX_

"Stand your ground!" Reyer yelled again. Erik smirked and threw his voice in the direction of Gerard's mouth, making it a ghostly, deep rumble.

"_I am the Dread Pirate Robin! There will be no survivors_!"

"Now?" Nadir asked.

"Not yet," Erik hissed, before going back to work. "_My men are here, I am here. But soon, you will not be here._"

"Now?"

"Light him." Nadir struck a match and set the holocaust cloak ablaze. "_The Dread Pirate Robin takes no survivors! All your worst nightmares are about to come true!_"

_XxXxX_

" And wove, twue wove, wiww fowwow you fowevah—" With a single jerk of his head, Raoul signaled Philippe, who snapped his fingers, and led out several of the guards.

_XxXxX_

"_The Dread Pirate Robin is here for your souls!_" Erik roared hoarsely, before laughing like a maniac. Every man at the gate, men who had been trained to never show fear, was suddenly screaming, and running for their lives

"Stay where you are! Fight! Stay where you are!" Reyer yelled hopelessly, since he was scrambling to get away, too.

_XxXxX_

"So tweasuwe youw wove—"

"Skip to the end, _please_," Raoul hissed through gritted teeth.

"Have you the wing?" Raoul took Christine's hand and she smiled smugly as he slipped the silver band on her finger.

"He's here," she said. "Erik's coming for me, right now."

_XxXxX_

"Gerard, the portcullis!" Erik yelled. Stripping off the holocaust cloak, Gerard caught the edge of the iron grate and pulled it back up.

_XxXxX_

"Erik is dead," Raoul told her coldly. "I killed him myself."

"Oh? Then why is there fear behind your eyes?"

_XxXxX_

Erik gave Reyer a deadly glare. "Give us the gate key."

"I-i-i h-h-have n-n-no g-g-gate k-k-key,"

"Gerard, tear his arms off." Nadir ordered. Gerard started to reach for him, but Reyer pulled out the key on a red and green tassel.

"Oh, y-y-you m-m-meant _this _gate k-k-key."

_XxXxX_

"And do you, Pwincess Cwistine,-"

"Man and wife! Say man and wife!"

"Man and wife."

Raoul passed Christine over to his parents. "Escort her back to the honeymoon suite. I'll be there shortly."

_No… _"He didn't come…" she whispered in shock.

_XxXxX_

Nadir walked slowly and calmly, Gerard dragging Erik behind him. Suddenly the clatter of footsteps sounded and five men were facing them. Four were French cadets, but the fifth was well dressed, a nobleman. Nadir's eyes traveled down to the man's right hand. One… two… three… four… five… _six_! The man wrinkled his brow at him, then shook his head. "Kill the dark one and the giant, but leave the third for questioning," he ordered. The soldiers raced towards them, but Nadir fluidly cut each of them down, stabbing the last one from behind. He turned back to the man he'd been hunting for over half his life.

"Hello. My name is Nadir Khan Daroga. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Philippe de Chandon stared at him in amazement. Then he turned and ran. Nadir bolted after him, but he vanished behind a locked door. Nadir slammed against the door, but to no avail. "Gerard! I need you!"

"I can't leave him alone."

"He's getting away from me, Gerard! Please! Arr! Gerard! Aaargh!" Nadir kept banging on the door. Gerard stuck Erik's arms through a suit of armor, and slammed his fist through the door. "Thank you."

_XxXxX_

Erik heard the sound of slower footsteps and a mumbling male voice. "Strange wedding."

"Yes. A very strange wedding. Come along." Then he saw her. _Christine…_ she looked positively ethereal in her wedding gown… how many times had he imagined her dressed like that in _his_ arms? She turned towards the King and gently kissed him on the cheek.

"What was that for?" the King asked her.

"It's because you've always been so kind to me, and I won't be seeing you again, since I'm killing myself once we reach the honeymoon suite." _No….no..._

The King wheezed in weak imitation of a laugh. "Won't that be nice? She kissed me!" Summoning all his strength, Erik pulled himself out of the armor, and started following them, using the wall for support. _I'm coming, my love… I'm coming… _

_XxXxX_

Nadir followed the Count down a staircase, still saying, ""Hello. My name is Nadir Khan Daroga. You killed my father. Prepare to die." But as he rounded the corner, all he got out was ""Hello. My na—" because Philippe hurled a dagger right into his stomach.

"Nadir!" He caught sight of Meg rounding a corner as she screamed his name. He grimaced as a second stab of pain ran through his stomach.

"Sorry, father…. I tried... I tried…." he whispered.

Philippe peered at him conceitedly. "_Mon Dieu_, you must be that little Persian brat I taught a lesson to all those years ago. Simply incredible. Have you been chasing me your whole life, only to fail now? I think that's the worst thing I've ever heard. How marvelous."

_XxXxX_

Christine carefully removed her gown and pulled on her robe. _There's no need for Raoul to have to get a new dress for the next poor girl he tries to force himself on._ She sat at the desk covered with all his favorite weapons, and selected a small dagger with a silver skull. Placing it to the side, she slowly pulled the eleven crystal-studded ring off her finger and laid it by one of the candles, then raised the dagger. _I'm coming, my sweet Erik… _She pressed the tip against her chest, and braced herself for the end.

"I've found that there's a shortage of perfect breasts in this world. It would be a pity to damage the one exceptional specimen I've ever encountered." Within the first few words of that statement, Christine knew she was not going to die. She whirled to see him lying on the red velvet mattress of the bed, unmasked and a sword at his hip.

"Erik! Oh, Erik darling!" She kissed his forehead, his lips, his wonderfully scarred cheek, every part of his face that she could reach. Erik returned her kisses faintly, but tenderly. "Erik, why won't you hold me?"

"Gently, angel" he whispered.

"At a time like this, that's all you can think to say, 'gently?'" she asked, wrapping her arms around his tightly and lifting his face closer to hers.

"**_Gently_**," Erik repeated, wincing as she released his head and it knocked against the bed. "Urr.."

_XxXxX_

"Nadir! Nadir!" Meg repeated his name over and over. "Nadir, answer me! Come on, don't just sit there, you idiot! Are you really going to let everyone down now?" Nadir slowly pulled the knife out, and moved his hand to cover the wound.

"Good heavens. Are you still trying to win? You've got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance. It's going to get you into trouble someday." Nadir glared, slowly advancing on him. Philippe lunged, but Nadir deflected the blow from his heart to his right arm. Philippe tried the other side, but Nadir parried that, too.

"Hello. My name is Nadir Khan Daroga. You killed my father. Prepare to die," he whispered softly. Philippe made a swipe, but Nadir blocked him. "Hello. My name is Nadir Khan Daroga. You killed my father. Prepare to die," he said, a little louder. "Hello. My name is Nadir Khan Daroga. You killed my father. Prepare to die."

"Stop saying that!" Philippe yelled.

"Hello! My name is Nadir Khan Daroga! You killed my father! Prepare to die!" Nadir yelled.

"No!" Philippe hissed as Nadir cut his cheeks.

"Offer me money!"

"Yes…" Philippe whispered breathlessly.

"Power, too. Promise me that!" Nadir ordered, running his blade through his foe's shoulder.

"All that I have and more! Please!" Philippe begged.

"Offer me everything I ask for!"

"Anything you want."

"LOOK OUT!" Meg screamed. Nadir caught Philippe's hand before he could get cut.

"_I want my father back, you son of a bitch!_" The great sword flashed through the heart of Philippe de Chandon, and he fell to the floor, dead.

"Nadir, you're hurt, let me see…" Meg rushed over to him.

"I did it… I can die now…" Nadir kissed the steel of the blade. "After twenty years, I have finally avenged him…"

"Oh, bollocks!" Meg huffed, pushing his hands down. "You'll get that wound dirty, let me take care of it."

"It's fine," he protested.

"Stop being so proud. I'm not going to let you die, not yet anyway. I got to see you murder that twisted maniac, and you have to see me avenge my family on the prince as repayment."

"_That's_ what you were asking Erik about?"

"Let's just say you should be glad you've never made me very angry," Meg said, ripping off a strip of her blouse and wrapping it around his cut. "I've been wanting to do it to Raoul ever since he insulted my mother." She pulled him up. "That should do until we can get out of here. Come on, let's find the others."

_XxXxX_

"Oh, Erik, will you ever forgive me?" Christine whispered, running her fingers through his silky black hair.

"What hideous sin have you committed lately?" he asked with a smile.

"I… I got married. I didn't want to. It all happened so fast."

"Never happened."

"What?"

"Never happened," he repeated.

"But it did. I was there. This old man said 'man and wife.'"

"Did you say 'I do?'" he asked, slowly raising his hand to stroke her cheek.

"Uh, no… We sort of skipped that part…"

"Then you're not married. If you didn't say it, you didn't do it. And if it _had _happened, well, widows happen every day. Wouldn't you agree, Your Highness?" Christine followed his gaze to Raoul standing in the door.

"A technicality that will shortly be remedied. If you came here to save her life, you've done that by effectively declaring war. So, first thing first." He slammed the door shut and drew his sword. "To the death!"

"No!" Erik yelled, twisting his hand. Suddenly, a lasso rose up from the ground, seizing Raoul by the neck. "I suppose you're not familiar with that phrase, so I'll explain. And I'll use small words so that you'll be sure to understand, you warthog-faced buffoon."

"That may be the first time in my life a man has dared insult me." Raoul growled, struggling with the noose.

"It won't be the last. To the pain means the first thing you will lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists, next your nose."

"And then my tongue, I suppose?" Raoul demanded. "I killed you too quickly the last time, a mistake I don't mean to duplicate tonight."

"I wasn't finished! The next thing you will lose will be your left eye, followed by your right."

"And then my ears, I understand, let's get on with it." Raoul forced his hand through the lasso.

"WRONG!" Erik yanked his hand down and the noose tightened. "Your ears you keep, and I'll tell you why. So that every shriek of every child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach, ever woman who cries out 'Dear God, what is that thing?' will echo in your perfect ears. That is what "to the pain" means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in the same freakish misery I once endured for ever."

"I think… you're bluffing." Raoul gasped. The lasso slowly loosened.

"It's possible, pig. I might be bluffing. It's conceivable, you miserable vomitous mass, I'm only lying here because I lack the strength to stand. Then again, perhaps I have the strength after all." He lightly brushed Christine's hand aside and stood, raising his sword to eye level. The lasso landed on the ground, and Christine saw that Erik had been controlling it with gossamer threads draped over one of the beams in the ceiling "Drop... your... sword." The fear Christine had seen Raoul hiding in his eyes was fully apparent now, as his blade fell to the ground with a clatter. "Have a seat. Christine, tie him up, please. Make it as tight as you like." She nodded, picking up the lasso, and wrapping it around Raoul's chest and arms. Raoul let out a grunt. "Just a little tighter, I think."

"Erik! Christine!" Meg strode through the door, the Persian man who had been one of Christine's kidnappers draped over her shoulders.

"Ah, Meg, Nadir. Impeccable timing." Erik smiled.

"Where's Gerard?" Nadir asked.

"I thought he was with you." Erik wrinkled his brow. The two shook their heads. "In that case, whooooa!" His knees began to buckle and he seized the bed frame for support.

"Help him," Meg urged.

"Why does Erik need helping?" Christine asked, moving into a position that mirrored Nadir and Meg's.

"Because he has no strength," Nadir explained.

Raoul laughed, "I knew it! I knew you were bluffing! I knew he was... bluffing." His voice got far less confident as Meg drew a dagger and pointed it as his face.

"May I dispatch him now, Erik?"

Erik sighed, "If you do, you have to make it quick, and try to not kill this one. Whatever happens to us, I want him to live a long life alone with his cowardice." Meg nodded, and in a flash of silver, Christine found herself feeling as though she wanted to puke. _Did sweet little Meg really just cut off Raoul's genitalia and stick them in a jar?_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Raoul yelled.

"I should have said clean, too…" Erik muttered. "All that blood…"

"Daroga! Daroga! Where are you?" They all hurried over to the window to see Gerard standing in the courtyard. "Oh, there you are. Daroga, I saw the prince's stable, and there they were, five pretty horses. And I thought, there are five of us, if we ever find the lady. Hello, lady!" Christine waved shyly. "So I took them with me, in case we ever bumped into each other. I guess we just did."

"Gerard, you did something right," said Nadir with a fond smile.

"Don't worry, I won't let it go to my head."

"Come on!" Meg laughed, jumping down nimbly. Christine glanced at Erik timidly. He nodded, and Gerard held out his arms. She jumped.

_XxXxX_

She looked like an angel, practically glistening in the moonlight. Erik smiled wistfully as she threw her arms around Mozart's neck. Nadir tapped him on the shoulder.

"This isn't over!" Raoul yelled. "I'll conquer England and then I'll find you! It is to be war between us, and next time, clever friend, the disaster will be yours!"

"_JE SUIS LE FANTÔME ROI DE LA MER!_ I will await you with pleasure!" Erik roared, throwing the silver skull dagger so that it landed inches from Raoul's head. Nadir tapped him on the shoulder.

"You know, it's very strange. I have been in the revenge business so long, now that it's over, I don't know what to do with the rest of my life."

"Have you ever considered piracy?" said Erik with a smile. "I think you'd make a wonderful Dread Pirate Robin."

"True," Daroga nodded.

"And I think it would suit her as well as it would you." Erik winked as he fell from the window. Nadir blushed scarlet, and jumped after him. "Hello, Mozart," Erik touched the horse's muzzle gently. "I've missed you, too, my friend."

"Bugger!" Meg pointed towards the gate. "It's Reyer!"

"Child's play," Christine said. Everyone stared at her in disbelief. "Watch and learn." She rode towards the wall of Brutes regally, her brown hair shimmering and flying behind her like a flag. "The Count is dead, and the Prince has been gravely wounded. He has urged me to flee with my entourage, and if you hurry, you might yet save him." No one moved. "Well? What are you waiting for?"

"They answer to me, Madame. I am the chief enfor—"

"So you think you are superior to me?" Christine demanded imperiously. "When **_I_ **am the _Queen_?" There was no doubting her superiority or power as she said the final word. The Brutes parted to let her pass, the others followed her in amazement. "That was something of a lie," Christine blushed. "Seeing as Raoul and I aren't really married, and His Majesty hasn't officially abdicated yet."

"But it worked. You were magnificent," Erik smiled at her.

"Oy! Lovebirds!" Meg yelled. "Can it wait until we're actually _safe_?" Erik and Christine smiled as they rode to freedom. On the horizon, the silhouette of the _Revenge_ came into focus. Erik caught his breath and yelled out.

"Gabriel! It's me! I've got her!"

_XxXxX_

"It's about time, sir," Gabriel called back, dropping down a rope ladder. "You've kept us waiting quite a while." Suddenly, a bullet whizzed past them, grazing Gerard's arm. They all turned to see French calvary advancing on them. "Hurry now!"

"The captain and Nadir don't have the strength," Meg shouted, leaping nimbly from her horse to the ladder. "Gerard, put them into one of the dinghies, then follow me. Christine… we have to leave the horses behind."

"But—"

"Now!" Christine nodded tearfully, and stroked Mozart's ears.

"Good-bye, my friend," she whispered, dismounting and following Meg up the ladder. She could hear Raoul shouting at the troops to cut them off. _Farewell, France… I may never see you again… _Then she started wishing she wasn't only in her dressing gown. She could feel the eyes of Erik's crew staring at her.

"Cast off," Meg requested, pulling Nadir out of the boat that had brought him up. "Oh, God… and get the Clogger!"

Erik started to rise, then collapsed in Christine's arms. "Erik? Erik?"

"What happened to him?" The young man Erik had called Gabriel bent over her. "Let me see." Christine pulled away long enough to show him. "Oh, God… is… is he _mostly dead_?"

"He was," Gerard said. "That scream earlier… that was him on a machine in the catacombs…"

"That was _him_? They did that? Oh, damn, I wish I'd been with you! I'd have rushed him straight to Signor Piangi, for a resurrection pill."

"That's what we did," Gerard said. Gabriel seized him by the shirt.

"Was it a fresh one? Not one he'd had lying around for ages?" Gerard nodded. "And this is the most important part: _did Carlotta have time to do the chocolate coating_?"

"She let me lick the pot," Gerard replied happily. "It was delicious." Gabriel released his shirt with a relieved sigh.

"Then there's still hope…" he turned to Christine. "And there is true love. Princess, if you work your side of the street, and I work mine, I think he'll survive. Right now, we should probably take him to your quarters."

"_My _quarters?" she repeated.

"The quarters you and my son will be sharing," a voice cut in. Christine gasped at the woman striding towards her. It was the woman from her dream. "I'm glad to finally meet you face to face, Christine."

"Madame," Gabriel bowed to the woman. " Christine Daaé, may I present to you Madame Antoinette Giry."

"And probably the first time a pirate has ever had his mother on his ship." Giry smiled warmly. "You've been very good for him, my dear child."

"I've killed him…"

"No, no," Giry stroked her hair gently as Gabriel led them into the cabins. "Love is what destroys us all in the end. But it heals us too, and that is what you must do for him now."

_XxXxX_

Meg passed Nadir a cup of tea. "I prefer _sahlab_," he said coldly.

"Someone's bitter about not being able to use their fancy sword," Meg retorted. "Here I am, trying to make you comfortable, and you say no!"

"I'm only stalling the inevitable. I'm the kind of man who always has to have a quest, a purpose."

"What about just living? For the sake of living? Life is short, Nadir, it's best to make of it."

"This from a woman who castrates the men who annoy her for fun?" Nadir asked incredulously.

"This from a woman who grew up being expected to do everything her father told her to do. Do you know what it's like in the English court?"

"I can guess."

"No, you can't. All I ever wanted was to be a dancer, like my mother was, and instead, I was supposed to learn court rituals, and decorum, and how to be a good wife! Ha! I'm not the kind of woman who wants to be tied down by marriage. I much prefer being the sister of the Dread Pirate Robin to being the of daughter King of England, or the possible wife of the Prince of France." Nadir raised an eyebrow. "It's true. Erik was the first man who treated me like an equal, not a pawn. And because of that, the crew genuinely thinks well of me, too."

"I guess it won't last long then,"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Erik mentioned that he plans to pass the title on to me."

Meg glared at him. "Bugger! He said _I_ could have it. Like Mother did before me."

"Meg…" he placed a hand on top of hers. "I… I have no idea how I say this, but—" Meg cut him off and kissed him full on the mouth.

"Does that work?"

He smiled. "I think you'll make a wonderful co-captain."

_XxXxX_

Erik faced the sea, the wind blowing in his face. He'd returned to the same mysterious man in black he had been in the square, his white mask the only thing that kept him from vanishing completely into the night. "Are you worried, Erik?" Christine asked, walking up behind him and lacing her fingers through his. "I am."

"No… no… Christine, we're free…"

"But not safe… he could come for us at any time… he'd take me, and we'll be parted forever…"

"Shhh…" Erik kissed her thick chocolate curls and sang softly. "No more talk

of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears. I'm here, nothing can harm you - my words will warm and calm you. Let me be your freedom, let daylight dry -your tears. I'm here, with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you . . ."

She nodded and joined in quietly. "Say you love me every waking moment, turn my head with talk of summertime . . . Say you need me with you, now and always . . . promise me that all you say is true - that's all I ask of you . . ."

"You have my word," he whispered, moving his lips to graze her forehead. "I do love you, from now until the very end of time. I have never stopped loving you, not for an instant."

"You never got my letters…" she murmured. "Oh, Erik…"

"Tell me now, what did they say?"

"_I want you with me, here, beside me. I love you, I truly do. When I first heard you sing, I thought I knew what it meant to feel love. I was wrong, my angel, so very wrong. Love is understanding when you cannot live without someone, wanting to die with them. I said I could not bear it if you died again. You truly loved me in the Fire Swamp, you were ready to die with me. I was selfish enough to place my life above your own. I would gladly die for you now. I don't believe it possible that you could be damned, but if we both were, I think it would be just as good as being in heaven,_" she quoted.

"Beautiful," Erik kissed her gently. "But what made you think you could ever be damned either?"

"I left you."

"And I absolve you of that," he led her back into the cabin, and passed her a book. "Act 1, Scene 5. This is one of my favorites of what Meg's shown me of English culture." He raised her hand gently.

"_If I profane with my unworthiest hand/ This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:/ My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand/ To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss._"

"_G-good pilgrim,_" she read haltingly, "_you do wrong your hand too much,/ Which m-mannerly devotion shows in this /For saints have hands th-that pilgrims' hands do touch, /And p-palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss._"

Erik drew her closer. "_Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?_"

"_Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer_." She answered, her voice growing in strength.

"_O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do/ They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair."_

_ "Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake."_

_ "Then move not while my prayers effect I take,_" he crooned, kissing her. "_Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin in purged._"

"_Then have my lips the sin they have took._"

"_Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!/ Give me my sin again,_" he kissed her with even more passion.

"_You kiss by th' book_," she gasped between kisses. "What was that?"

"_Romeo and Juliet_, by William Shakespeare. He's a British playwright. But I have a different motive behind my interest in it. We'll be leaving for Italy soon."

"Italy?"

"Italy. There's something I want to do. Have you ever heard of opera, Christine?" Erik asked, spreading out a map of Europe, and placing his finger on a peninsula shaped like a boot. She shook her head. "Well, it's a new form of theater, where everything is sung."

"Really?"

"Yes, and I think it's the perfect place for us to start again. I want to see you onstage, for everyone to feel the inspiration and beauty you give me." He leaned over to kiss her cheek again. "You will become the star of a thousand private fantasies—"

"But I will sing only for you," she interrupted sweetly. "I will give you my soul every night, and die. Then, when we're alone, you can kiss me, and I'll be reborn."

"My thoughts precisely. See? We have as much time as we want."

"Then we're doomed."

"Doomed, _ange_?"

"To be together. Until one of us dies."

"Well, that's another easily solved problem. We just have to promise to outlive each other, and I promise that now."

She looked up at him with pure love and adoration. "Oh, Erik, so do I." And she kissed him. Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.

_ "'The End,' my grandmother closed the book. "What did you think, Angel?"_

_ "Well… it was good, I guess… but Grandmama, he didn't give them a happy ending."_

_ "What do you mean?" Grandmama asked, gathering up her things._

_ "It just ended with that kiss. Not happily ever after. What happened next? Did they get married at the same time as Meg and Nadir? Did Raoul find them? Did Christine get that career? And what about Gerard, and Madame Giry?"_

_ "I just read what was in the book, darling."_

_ "Will you tell me what happened next," I asked. "Tomorrow, if I still don't feel well?" I heard my grandfather call to us from downstairs._

_ "Still reading, are we, my dear? Come down, it's late."_

_ Grandmama smiled rapturously, and kissing my forehead, pulled the bedcovers over me. "Of course. As you wish." She picked up her coat, and headed out the door, still smiling her beautiful smile._

_ "What story did you tell her tonight?" I heard my grandfather ask._

_ "Our story, you could say."_

_ "Did you? Well, then I think tomorrow is my turn, my dear." I smiled at the sound of him kissing her._

_ "Take me home now, darling?"_

_ "As you wish."_


	9. Grandfather

_"Are you feeling any better, Angel?" I glanced up from my tarot pack to see my grandfather leaning against the door, his white bandages gleaming softly in the light._

_"Grandfather!" I shot out of bed and hugged him tightly. "But where's Grandmama?"_

_"She's busy this evening, so I'm here instead."_

_"Do you know the story of The Phantom Bride, Grandfather?"_

_"Very well," he kissed my forehead. "Your grandmother tells me you finished the book last night."_

_"We did, but I want to know what happened after the book ends. Can you tell me?"_

_"Get back into bed, and I will." Grandfather pulled off his coat, sitting down in the chair next to my bed. I wrinkled my nose, but did as he said. "Good girl. So, you left off with Erik and Christine kissing in the cabin?"_

_"Yes, that was it."_

_"Can you be grown up about this, Angel?"_

_"What's that supposed to mean? Of course I can! I'm nine years old, Grandfather!"_

_"All right, then, let's see… I don't tell the story with the same sort of style your grandmother does. But then, we both remember it differently."_

_"Remember it? What do you mean?" Grandfather only smiled._

_"That night led to far more than kiss—"_

_"They made hot passionate love?"_

_"Angel, do I even want to know how a nine-year old learns that sort of thing?"_

_"Did they?"_

_"ANGEL! DO YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU OR NOT?"_

_"Oh, tell me everything, Grandfather! What happened? Was there grop—" Grandfather clapped his hand over my mouth. "Mmmph!"_

_"Angeline Isabelle Claudin—" I grimaced as he used my full name. I hated that name. "—I am going to assume you were stealing your mother's romance novels, or else spying on your parents. Either way, shame on you." I let out a little grumble. "Honestly, it was much easier to be around your father when he was your age."_

_"So I don't like composing and machines! That's not a sin."_

_"And I wouldn't have you any other way," Grandfather said, kissing me on the forehead._

_"Oh, come on, Grandfather, I want to hear the story!"_

_"Very well, petite." Grandfather reached into his pocket and pulled out a battered old leather book. "Where did you leave off? Our… I mean, Christine and Erik's final kiss?"_

_"Yes," I said, sitting back and closing my eyes, preparing to let the story wash over me._

* * *

A/N: Teaser chapter! Oh, I am so evil! *smirks*


	10. As You Wish: Saying Good Night

Caelia is returned! Yaaaaay! And this is the last chapter... Yay/Waaaah!

* * *

"Take that!" Meg yelled, spinning wildly. Reza struck her in the side with the wooden sword.

"Meg, you need to master the basic techniques before you start adding your own little flairs," Nadir called from the rail, before redirecting his attention to his countryman. "And Bonetti's is not meant to be aimed at the ribs, you have to go for the heart, Reza."

"I'm trying!" Meg whined.

"No, you're not!" Christine teased, jumping down from the bridge. "But you're right, these are quite comfortable." She ran a hand along the pants she'd borrowed from Erik.

"And you look absolutely beautiful in them, Mademoiselle Daaé," Erik said, nipping her ear lovingly.

"Ugh, that's already fifteen times today!" Meg wailed. "When do we get to Italy?"

"When we get there," Erik retorted, kissing Christine again, who giggled. Meg and the other members of the crew left a sigh of annoyance.

"The most fearsome pirate in the world, and he's turned into a lovestruck milksop… I liked it better when you were trying to get her back."

"Really? Then you have to give back the items you stole from the Prince," Erik reached for her hip pouch. With a loud snarl, Meg drew her dagger and lunged for him. Erik caught her wrist and threw her to the ground. "You know, Gabriel, I'm quite glad you were apprenticed to Signor Piangi. I feel much stronger than I did before I died."

"The pleasure was mine, sir," Gabriel said, barely looking up from his examination of the six-fingered sword. "This is truly an amazing blade, Monsieur Khan. Your father was an incredible artist. The steel is pure, the handle is well shaped… absolutely magnificent."

"He slaved on it a year, it ought to be. The Daroga never is expected to produce anything less than perfect."

"Hopefully, you'll be able to produce perfect results from that little menace," Gabriel jabbed his thumb at Meg.

"Do you want to no longer have to worry about leaving bastards around every port we land in?" Meg demanded, bouncing her blade to catch the sunlight. Gabriel shook his head.

"Feel free to explore the Revenge, Christine," Erik kissed her cheek before striding towards the budding argument. "Alright, Meg, stop it!"

"Amazing, isn't it?" Christine jumped to see Mme. Giry standing behind her. "I warned Erik that giving her too much freedom would spoil her. Tout dans la modération, you know. But no, he had to indulge her, just like then they were children."

"They were together as children?"

"Oui, that was back when there was still relative peace between England and France. Charles was fairly furious when I delivered them: 'a worthless girl and a twisted little monster,' he called them," she paused to spit over the side of the ship. "He'd have gotten rid of Erik and me if Meg hadn't clung to us so tightly. The two of them used to sneak into the galleries after they should have been in bed, and Erik would sing while Meg danced. They were so sweet to watch."

"Please, tell me more," Christine urged.

"Mon Dieu, child, did Erik tell you nothing?"

"Only snatches. Did he really kill several crew members before you were able to subdue him?"

"More along the lines of knocked them out for a few days. He was shouting your name the entire time, my dear."

"And he really said please?"

"Jammes was the first one to be fascinated by him. She asked him if you were prettier than she was, and he spat in her face. That got a laugh out of Poligny, who brought him to me. I asked him, 'What could possibly be so important that you continue to defy us, in the face of certain death? Who could be worth living for?'"

"'Christine Daaé,' I said. 'True love, Captain. It broke my heart to leave her, but I had to do it. I can't support her at present, and I want to give her everything a woman could ever need or want,'" Erik broke in, wrapping his arms around Christine.

XxXxX

"Is she really so exceptional?"

"Hair the warm color of maple wood, skin like ivory, and eyes of a beautiful pure chocolate hue. But her voice puts her face to shame for its clarity and splendor. For reasons I cannot explain, she loves me as deeply and faithfully as I love her. Please, for her sake, if nothing else, I must live."

"I cannot leave a survivor."

"Say that I'm dead, then, but let me live. I'll serve you in any way you require."

"All right, then, Erik. I've never had a valet. You can try it for the day, but I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

"May I be allowed to write to her? To tell her I'm gone?"

XxXxX

"You wrote that letter from Leferve?" Christine asked incredulously.

"I didn't think I'd have the strength to tell you as myself," Erik whispered. "Am I forgiven for that?"

"You could have been spared the kidnapping, the Fire Swamp, the ROUS's, the machine, and that elaborate rescue… of course you are," she said, and kissed him.

"Far," Gerard murmured shyly.

"Gerard, how long have you been listening?" Giry asked gently.

"Well, the story was so pretty, it might have been glistening," Gerard blushed. "I wanted to hear, because I can't break anything if I'm just hearing the story."

"You look strong, Gerard. Why don't you come down with me to the hold? I think there's quite a few things in storage that need to be rearranged." Giry took the giant's hand in her own and led him away.

"What will happen to them?" Christine asked quietly. "Your mother and sister, Gerard and Nadir? Are we going to take them with us to Italy, or we to leave them to Raoul's mercy?"

"My family can take care of themselves, Christine, have you not seen that? Besides, if we're lucky, that bastard will die soon, and you'll be left as the Queen of France."

"I thought we'd established that I'm not married to him."

"You're not, but everyone thinks you are. And, since he's no longer a real man, courtesy of Meg, he'll die without a child, leaving only you as his widow."

"And if we're not lucky?"

"Then we'll already have grandchildren when he dies."

"Erik, I don't ever remember you being so optimistic before."

"I didn't have you before," he said, cupping her chin in his hands. "Before, you were close, yet a thousand miles away. Now, we are here, as equals, with nothing to hold us back."

"Reza, put that down!" Meg's voice interrupted the tender moment. "I'm warning you!"

"We'll resume tonight," Erik crooned, kissing Christine again.

XxXxX

Christine peered out the window at the moonless sky, humming softly. Only the stars gave faint light to the darkness. "Exquisite." She turned to see Erik's silhouette in the door. "My Christine, my beautiful, sweet, angelic Christine. Someone, tell me what I did to deserve someone as exceptional as you."

"You loved me," she replied, rising to meet him. She reached out and delicately touched his chest. Erik drew her closer, and felt her soft cheek. The music of the last night they had spent together before their separation seemed to be echoing around them in a ravishing refrain only they could hear. "As I loved you, then, and as I love you now. Please, Erik, let nothing matter for tonight, except you and I."

"As you wish," he gasped out, his fingers moving down to remove her shirt. As her breasts were liberated from the cloth, he moved his lips down her collarbone to kiss them as well.

"Erik," she whispered breathlessly, "oh, Erik, do you know how long I've longed for this?"

"At least as long as I have," he murmured. "Oh, my love…."

XxXxX

"Ugh. Ugh. Ugh." Meg shook her head, pulling her eye away from the keyhole. "I did not need to see that."

"That will teach you to spy on your brother, ma fille," Antoinette smiled down at the little blonde. "We can only hope he has a little more class when you decide to couple with Nadir."

"Mother!"

"Hush, Meg. They need their privacy."

"Privacy?" Meg repeated in disgust. "They are indulging in lovemaking in the captain's quarters!"

"One of God's most glorious acts."

"Disgusting."

XxXxX

Meg was examining a dispatch when Erik and Christine finally emerged from the cabin. "Sleep well?" she asked casually.

"Very," Erik replied. "Not that it's any of your concern."

"If it keeps slowing us down, it is my concern. Charles has named David his successor, and you know how he feels about us. There goes the possibility of docking in Plymouth. And don't blame anyone else, it's your fault."

"David?" Erik moaned. "Wonderful! Just wonderful. That means we can't dock in England, or any colonies! So much for Gibraltar."

"Spain, maybe?" Nadir proposed, sipping from his cup of tea.

"Prefers sahlab, hmm?" Meg teased. Nadir whacked the side of her head playfully.

"Spain is a possibility, but it would be a much longer time, since we'd be going by land.… and the rum's almost gone, apparently," Erik said with a glare. "And I wonder whose fault that is?"

"Gabriel's," Meg retorted. "Because you stuck me in the bloody palace, playing the sweet little lady in waiting!"

"You were easier to handle then," Christine interrupted. "As it stands, you're giving me a headache."

"Listen to yourself! Do you know what we were hearing last night? Oh, Christine! Oh, Erik! And the kissing! Eurgh!" Christine rolled her eyes at Meg's poor imitation of their voices.

"Grow up, Meg. I know you can be more mature."

"Sure," Gerard rhymed.

"Gerard, not right now," Nadir said, spinning the globe on the table.

"How?"

"Orange." Meg said with a smirk. Gerard blushed and started mumbling to himself.

"Meg, that was cruel!" Christine chided. "Were you trying to hurt his feelings?"

"We have bigger problems, Christine," Meg snapped.

"ENOUGH!" Madame Giry slammed her hand down on the table. "You are acting like children, and our darkest hour is almost upon us."

"Spain… Why can't we go there?"

"It would be long, angel."

"I don't care. Besides, won't Raoul be looking for us by sea?" The moment the words escaped Christine's mouth, everyone looked at her.

"She's right," Meg gasped. "Why didn't we realize it?"

"And Spain hates France almost as much as England does!" Mme. Giry said.

"So no one would think of looking for us there!" Erik finished, sweeping up his love in his arms for a kiss. "Christine, it's perfect!"

"I was just saying…"

"And it was brilliant!"

"I should be brilliant more often…. You kiss better when I am…" Meg and Nadir let out twin sides of disgust as Erik dipped Christine down for yet another kiss.

"You two, shut up. It won't due to have such immature captains when Christine and I are gone. The Dread Pirate Roberts does have a reputation a reputation to uphold."

"You mean…"

"Oaths are only made to catch gulls with in Persia, Meg. I was quite serious about you being Captain after me. You just need a guiding hand, and I think Nadir is the only one besides Mother and myself who can handle you."

"You are the most wonderful brother on earth!" Meg squealed, kissing Erik's cheek.

"Thank you, sister. Now, everyone, prepare exactly as I tell you. This isn't something that can be done slowly."

XxXxX

Christine hugged Meg tightly. "I'm going to miss you so much…"

"Oh, stop sniveling. We'll find ways of keeping in touch. And if Raoul dies… maybe we can all be home together sometime…"

"Goodbye, Meg…"

"Goodbye. Now, go on, Erik's waiting for you." Christine nodded and the two young women embraced for the last time.

"Are you all right?" Erik asked, gently brushing her hair away from her face as the little dinghy sank into the water.

"I fear we'll never see them again, that something will happen to them."

"You know what I'm going to say, don't you? We love them. They're our family. That kind of love…"

"Never dies," she finished with a smile, turning to face the Spanish coast. "Erik… you do know Spanish, right? Because there's no way I'll be able to survive on my own…"

"Don't worry, I know enough to get by for both of us."

Christine sighed. "I can't believe it. All our adventures seem to finally be over."

"All save one. For what is life and love but an adventure?" Erik pointed out, kissing her gently.

"Oh, Erik… I feel so strange. Light and buoyant. Much lighter than I've felt ever since Raoul found me."

"It's called freedom, Christine… wonderful, isn't it?"

"The second most wonderful feeling I've ever felt."

"What's the first?"

"This." She kissed him with such passion that neither of them could focus on anything other than each other.

The journey across Spain took many days and nights, but at last they made it to the city of Barcelona, having stopped in Bilbao for one crucial thing: a real marriage. It was far simpler and less conspicuous than her first so-called wedding, and Christine couldn't have been happier. And by the time they reached Italy, they discovered something that made them feel all the more blest: Christine was expecting their first child. When he was born… they saw that he had his mother's fair face, and his father's eyes. They named him Gustave. And he's your father.

XxXxX

_"Then it's true? You really are the Erik? The farm boy turned pirate captain? And Grandmama is a princess?"_

_"Not exactly. Not wanting to admit that I'd won, Raoul had the bishops of France create a reason to divorce her. If you can call it divorce, given the farce it was. That being said, you've been up rather late, my little one, and it's time you went to sleep."_

_"Yes, Grandfather… But…"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Could you tell it to me again tomorrow?"_

_Grandfather smiled at me. "As you wish." And I fell asleep to a dream of a story that was part of me… the story of the Phantom Bride… of a young singer and the farm boy she fell in love with… the man who died for her._


End file.
